Antithesis
by DoraeAzure
Summary: There was once a time when it could be said that Ginny was a little infatuated with Harry Potter. Just a little. But not anymore. Ginny was so not in love with any raven-haired boys, no matter how hard it was to stop thinking about him... (SS Prequel)
1. Wary Waiting

**Antithesis**

Disclaimer: I don't own anything even remotely related to Harry Potter, except a little of the merchandise.

Notes: The first chapter of a new story. Yay! This is, of course, a prequel to Seasonal Suffering, which centers on Harry and Ginny (for those of you who missed that). If you're an avid Ron/ Hermione fan (as I am), however, don't be concerned! There will be lots of those unavoidable R/Hr "moments;" it's always fun to embarrass them, and since they're not together yet in this one, I have a lot of room for embarrassment. However, Harry and Ginevra are our main victims-Ahem-characters, I mean, and most of the embarrassment will be theirs. That being said, let us begin.

**Chapter One: Wary Waiting**

Ginny awoke on the first day of the third week of the summer holiday to the delicious warmth of the sun on her face. It was well into the morning, and the very leisure of waking to the sun was one to be treasured. It was rare. It was relaxing. It was…

Not enough of a distraction.

Truth be told, the only thing Ginny cared to notice about this most beautiful of mornings was that the sun had forced her to wake up to it. She'd rather not think about this day, really. It only made her feel sick.

Swallowing thickly, Ginny stretched and yawned and glared at her window.

"Stupid sunshine," she grumbled, and rebelliously flung an arm across her eyes.

It was summer. A time of sleep, sun and freedom (from homework, among other things). So why didn't Ginny feel free?

Fully awake, despite her best efforts, Ginny sighed and acknowledged the morning. "Stupid sunshine," she repeated, dragging herself upright. Lazily, she pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapped her arms around them, and proceeded to peer out the window.

It wasn't so much that she felt that she wasn't free. She was, right? She had two months to herself, with no homework and as much sleep as she wanted. Her brothers could be fairly annoying, but most of them had moved out. Even Fred and George had left home to be nearer to their shop in Diagon Alley. Ron was the only one still at home, and he pretty much left her alone. Aside from her mother pestering her to eat more at meals, she was as free as a girl could get.

So why did she feel so trapped?

That was really a very stupid question, and one she already knew the answer to. The answer had unruly black hair, (unfairly) bright green eyes, a charming grin that made all the girls (except for Ginny) melt at his feet (not that he knew it), and went by one of two names: Harry Potter.

Just thinking about him made her grit her teeth.

It wasn't that Harry had done anything. No, Harry had always been nice to Ginny… even after the infamous Valentine's Day card in her first year, though that had to have been very embarrassing for him (it certainly had been for her!). Harry was, unfortunately, a sweetheart by nature. He genuinely cared about people; if he asked how you were doing, he really wanted to know. Aside from that, he had a great sense of humor (he would have to in order to be best friends with Ron), was really very intelligent (as his grades would show if he bothered to do his homework more often), and, most of all, he was continually sacrificing his own safety to save the world. He was amazing, there was no denying it. No, the problem wasn't that Harry had done anything to her at all. Unless you counted the fact that he consumed her thoughts. She had no idea why, but she couldn't get the boy out of her mind, and it was driving her crazy.

_That _was the problem.

She thought about him all the time. She wondered how things were going with his terrible family, and hoped they weren't treating him too badly. She worried about him, wondering if he was really safe enough at his aunt and uncle's house, and if Dumbledore had someone reliable watching him over there. Most of all, she wondered how he was coping with Sirius's death and hoped he wasn't blaming himself. She was constantly thinking of ways she might try to let him know that she was concerned and willing to help, and then discarding them. She worried that he wasn't eating enough, sleeping enough, that he was being forced to grieve alone, that he might do something drastic, and any number of other things she had no business thinking about. Everywhere she turned, there was Harry; no matter how she distracted herself, no matter what she said or did, he was right there with her.

Worst of all, for the last two weeks, the entire duration of the summer thus far, she had been so worried, so _concerned_ for the boy that she had taken to wishing with all her strength that Dumbledore would just let him come home to the Burrow. And now he was coming. Coming here. The boy who had been so irritatingly present in her thoughts would be here, in the flesh, in less than seven hours. And she was terribly nervous; she didn't know what to say, and she was terrified that he'd take one look at her and know.

Know what, she wasn't sure, but there it was.

No doubt about it, the boy had her confused. Really, it wasn't like she was in l-

"No, definitely not," Ginny said out loud, cutting the air with the edge of her hand in a swift, decisive motion before she could even finish the thought. Of course not, that was the silliest idea. She didn't fancy him at all; she'd been over that for years now. In fact, she'd been exchanging owls with Dean Thomas ever since school let out. They had been very close to having something of an understanding between them at the end of the last term, but they had decided to wait until the next school year to make any decisions because summers had unpredictable effects on new relationships—especially those that suddenly became long distance. She liked _Dean_. She just worried about Harry. Obsessively. But that was reasonable, wasn't it?

Still, it was odd that she thought of him so much, and she was afraid someone might have noticed. Ginny sighed and pulled herself out of bed, knowing that if she didn't make her bid for the bathroom soon, Ron would beat her to it.

At least Hermione was coming over today too, she thought, returning to her previous train of thought. She was arriving early this afternoon, and Ginny couldn't be happier about it. Ron was a good companion when he wasn't being a prat, but Ginny missed normal female interaction, and she really liked Hermione. Not that she had ever disliked her, mind you, but they had never really known each other well before last summer when they'd all been confined to Sirius's house. They'd been forced to stay inside and sent upstairs to their rooms so often that here hadn't been much choice. They'd been good friends ever since, and Ginny now prided herself on being one of the few who bothered to spend enough time with the prefect to know that there was more to the girl than homework and studying. She was a lot of fun, when you could get her to pry her eyes off of Ron that is. Ginny grinned at that thought. Hermione would deny it adamantly, of course, but that didn't mean it wasn't true. No matter what she said, Ginny knew Hermione fancied her brother, and she often wondered when the two of them would just admit it already. Because Ron fancied her too.

Ginny opened her door, toiletries in hand, just in time to see her brother with his hand on the door of the partially opened bathroom. _Speak of the devil…_

"Er, did you need in here?" he asked, his stance somewhat possessive…if that were possible.

Ginny sighed. "Yes, Ron, but you can go first. I'll help Mum with breakfast. Just please don't use all the hot water this time!" He just grinned and shut the door. Ginny shook her head, dropped her things back on her bed, grabbed a robe and headed downstairs. The other good thing about Hermione visiting was that she made a wonderful ally against the overflow of testosterone that was evident this time of year in the Weasley household. Every one of her brothers, she knew, would show up for Harry's birthday in a couple of weeks, and it could be a little overwhelming at times. Ginny had grown up with boys, so she didn't really mind so much, but it would still be nice to have another girl around. Maybe with Hermione here, her brothers would remember to put the seat down when they were done in the loo.

Ginny grinned.

Right. And maybe Loony Lovegood would find that Crumple-Horned Snorkack she was looking for this summer.

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It was big.

It was red.

It was the most terrifying thing Ginny had ever seen in her life.

_Any moment now. It could be any moment…_

"Ginny! Will you please stop staring at the door and let me by! I'm hungry!"

With a jolt, Ginny jerked her gaze from the front door and looked guiltily at her brother.

"Sorry Ron," she mumbled. Blushing furiously, the youngest Weasley turned on her heel and resumed her interrupted trek to the kitchen, trying hard to ignore the half amused, half irritated stare she felt her brother focus on her back.

"Honestly," she heard him mutter under his breath, "what's the big deal with her today?"

Ginny frowned. It wasn't like it was her fault anyway, she thought in sudden annoyance. She certainly hadn't set out to block Ron's path (heaven forbid anyone _intentionally_ get between Ron and food). If that git Harry Potter would just stay out of her head and quit terrifying her with thoughts of how he might walk through the front door _any minute now_, she wouldn't have been frozen in the entryway on her way to lunch. And if the entryway weren't so long and narrow, instead of square, she wouldn't have been blocking the path from the stairs to the kitchen anyway. So none of this could in any way be blamed on her.

Sitting down at the kitchen table, Ginny glowered at her plate while her mother served her, then quickly ate lunch and just as swiftly excused herself. Stomping back through the entryway, Ginny glared at the door balefully, turned her nose to the air and marched purposefully up the stairs. She had gained all of three steps when the door swung open behind her with a gust of warm air and a voice happily called—

"Hi everyone! I'm here!"

Ginny didn't even stop to think. She whirled around suddenly and flew back down the stairs. Rounding the banister, she flung herself into the newcomer's arms with a happy shout. "Hermione! I'm so glad to see you, most wondrous savior of my sanity!"

Hermione laughed, hugging the younger girl back with equal enthusiasm. "That bad, huh?"

"You have no idea."

"What exactly are you trying to say?" said a voice from the doorway.

"That you're a pain the bum, Weasley, what else?" Hermione answered for her. Ron scowled, and Hermione's mischievous grin softened. "It's good to see you, Ron," she told him.

"Says the girl who finds a pain in her bum endearing," Ginny muttered under her breath. Hermione must have heard her, for she reddened a bit and quickly cleared her throat. Before she could say anything though, Molly Weasley came rushing into the room and drew Hermione into a tight hug.

"Hermione, dear, how are you? How was your trip?"

"It was fine, Mrs. Weasley. A couple of aurors escorted me here by portkey. They've only just left." At Mrs. Weasley's worried look, Hermione quickly reassured her. "It was only a precaution, Mrs. Weasley. They just wanted to make sure everything was in top form before they brought Harry in later this afternoon. They're just being careful is all."

Mrs. Weasley, looking relieved, but still a little concerned, ushered Hermione into the house. "Ginny would you—never mind. Ron, take Hermione's trunk upstairs to Ginny's room, would you please? Come along, dear, you must be starving." Ginny shot Ron a triumphant look and gleefully waved him up the stairs as he hefted Hermione's trunk in his arms and started for Ginny's room.

"What has she got in this thing?" he muttered as he began climbing. "Bricks?"

"Books, Ron," Hermione called over her shoulder, her tone one of amused exasperation.

"Yeah, Ron. A whole library of them," Ginny added, causing Ron to shoot her a glare over the top of the trunk. Ginny snickered and turned to follow her mother and friend when she heard the front door open again behind her. Heart clenching in apprehension, Ginny froze. In all the excitement over Hermione's arrival, Ginny had completely forgotten to worry about Harry's. But now that the door was open, and someone was coming inside…

She closed her eyes and nervously mustered her strength, then turned around to face whoever had just come in.

"Um. Hi," she greeted softly, startled.

"That's it?" He shut the door and addressed the ceiling. "We haven't seen each other in weeks and all the girl can say is 'Um. Hi.'" He turned back to face her. "I must say, Gin, I don't feel very welcome." His expression was questioning.

Ginny grinned. "Sorry, Charlie," she replied, then launched herself at him. "I _am_ happy to see you," she told him, when he'd caught her and spun her around. "But we weren't expecting you til next week. You're early."

"Expecting someone else, were you?" He gave her a knowing smirk, and, inexplicably, she blushed.

"What?" Her eyes widened. How did he know about that? How _could_ he know about that, he hadn't even been around to _witness_ her obsession! _Maybe he's psychic! Oh, don't be silly Ginny; of course he's not psychic. Well, how else would he know? _She thought a moment, and then_, Heh, I suppose I may have spent just a _tad _too much space in my letters on the subject of Harry. Oh, stupid! I should have known better. He always knows what I'm thinking!_

As if to prove her point, Charlie glanced discreetly at the door and lowered his voice. "Don't worry, Gin-bug, he'll be here soon." He tossed her a wicked grin (_Blushing! Why am I always blushing?_ She mentally groaned in mortified despair), kissed her nose affectionately and set her down. "In the meantime, your poor injured brother has finally returned home to his loving family and needs his baby sister's undivided attention to nurture him back to health over his extended vacation. And maybe a few dozen of Mum's cookies." She giggled as he took her hand and led her into the living room.

"What you need is a wife," she told him, feeling her blush begin to fade.

"Our little Ginny sounds more and more like Mum every day," Charlie muttered wryly, then pulled her down on the couch with him before she could protest. "Hush, Gin, you know it's true. Now," he shifted on the couch until he was comfortable, "tell me all about your break so far."

And she did. Beginning to end. In great detail. She began with "I woke up the morning after we got home, and got out of bed to take a shower," and wouldn't have ended until, "and now I'm here telling you what I did during my summer so far," except that Charlie cut her off at lunch on the third day.

"That's a little more detail than necessary, Gin, you ornery girl you."

"You asked me to tell you _all_ about it, Charlie," she answered with a cheeky grin, and only then noticed the bandage on his upper arm. "Charlie, what did you do?" she gasped, gently taking hold of the appendage and peering at the bandage intently. She carefully lifted one edge, trying to peek at the burn underneath.

"It's just a little burn, Gin, don't worry about it."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, the medic says it'll heal quickly, I just need a little extra time off."

"Charlie? Is that you? What are you doing home so early?" Mrs. Weasley's voice floated in from the kitchen, followed momentarily by the woman herself, curious and smelling of freshly baked cookies.

Having satisfied herself that her brother really was okay, Ginny felt free to take revenge for the embarrassment of guessing her preoccupation with that git, Harry Potter. Giving him a sly, vengeful glance, Ginny lifted her brother's arm for her mother's inspection and told her loudly, "One of the dragons got him, Mum," and grinned wickedly.

"_What_? Charlie, let me see." Mrs. Weasley wasted no time hurrying over to examine the wound herself.

"Mum! It's fine!" Charlie protested, shooting Ginny an aggravated look over his mother's bent head, which his sister pretended not to see.

"How did this happen?" their mother continued, waving her wand and summoning a medical kit. Charlie carefully but firmly clamped a hand over the white gauze and shook his head.

"It's fine Mum, really! I just got a little careless. It could have been much worse!"

"_Careless?_ _Worse!_ Charlie, let me see your arm!"

"Mum, it's okay!"

"I have to make sure it's been treated properly, Charlie, now let me see!" The formerly grinning Ginny now snickered as her mother attempted to unwrap the bandage while Charlie clung to it for dear life, protesting wildly.

"Mum! The medic already looked at it, you don't need to—"

"Charlie Weasley! You move that hand this instant, or so help me—"

Still chuckling wickedly, Ginny snuck away from the commotion in the living room and escaped to the kitchen. Hermione and Ron were sitting at the table, Ron lecturing out of a book, and Hermione listening boredly while eating a sandwich.

Wait, that wasn't right.

Half way to the oven, Ginny stopped and did a double take.

"—when the Bludger's coming at you. It's the only way to avoid getting your head smashed in, you see? It was a brilliant move."

Hermione looked on blankly. "I'm sure it was, Ron."

Ginny smirked. Bored though she seemed, Ginny was fairly certain Hermione liked Quidditch. Sure, she acted like she hated the very word "Quidditch," but Ginny suspected her feelings differed quite a bit from her actions. She'd caught a few glimpses of the way Hermione watched the game, and not all of the excited sparkle in her eyes was reserved for the back of Ron's head. Hermione would never tell anyone, especially not Ron because she'd never hear the end of it, but in reality, Ginny was sure Hermione was in love with the game.

_Mum's sandwiches and cookies, attention from Ron and a Quidditch lesson all at once; Hermione Granger, this is your lucky day. Pretend to be bored all you like, but I know you're eating this up._ _Speaking of eating and Mum's cookies…_

She turned and eyed the freshly baked batch sitting on the stove. Happily, she picked one up, tossed it from hand to hand until it was cool enough to eat, and took a bite. "Mmmmm!" She ate two more, grabbed one for the road, an extra as an (unnecessary, really!) apology to Charlie, and made her way past the totally oblivious lovebirds to the living room.

Just in time to hear the front door slam.

Ginny's heart skipped a beat.

She caught Charlie's knowing smirk, and reconsidered giving him the cookie. But then her mother tightened the new bandage on his arm just a bit too much, causing Charlie to hiss in pain, and Ginny relented. She put the cookie in his good hand and offered him a kiss on the cheek in apology.

"I want one of those," said a voice from the doorway. "Charlie, what are you doing home so soon? I thought you couldn't get off until next week."

"He's been injured, Arthur," Molly told him, offering a kiss in greeting, which he gladly accepted. Meanwhile, Ginny was slowly knocking her head against her brother's shoulder. This was the third time the front door had almost given her a heart attack. She was sorely tempted to go post a sign outside that said: "for Ginny's mental health, please do not come inside unless you are Harry Potter."

She felt Charlie shake with silent laughter, and groaned in embarrassment. Of all her brothers, Charlie was the most perceptive. He was also the most compassionate, and her second favorite. Usually that meant that he could be trusted with this sort of emotional confusion. On the other hand…

Far be it for him to pass up the opportunity to tease her.

"Poor Gin-bug," he murmured in her ear, hugging her with one arm and gently tugging on a strand of her hair. "We could always just nail the door shut."

She looked up at him hopefully. "Would you?"

He only laughed. "No. The aurors might panic."

"Why might the aurors panic?" Arthur Weasley loomed above them, looking curious.

"No reason, Dad." Ginny leaned up to kiss his cheek. "Where did you go? I thought you were out back in your shed."

"Got called in this morning. Do I smell cookies?"

"Yes, but you're not to eat any until Harry arrives."

"Oops."

"Ginny, you didn't."

"Ron did first!" She absently smacked Charlie's good arm when she felt him laugh at her. "And Charlie's had one too!"

"Traitor," her brother muttered.

"It's all right, Molly," Arthur called from the kitchen. "You made plenty. You always do."

Molly frowned at the odd quality of his voice. "Arthur! You better not be eating those cookies. I mean it!"

"Of course not dear." But his words were distinctly muffled.

"Arthur!" Their mother hurried off towards the kitchen. Seconds later both parents could be heard laughing and teasing one another. Ron was obviously unappreciative.

"Gross! My parents are flirting," he groaned in a disgusted tone.

"Hush Ronald," came Hermione's voice. "It's cute."

"Cute! It's sick-making!"

"Ronald! Honestly!"

Ginny snickered and reached for a book from the nearby end-table. Harry Potter may not be here, but Charlie Weasley was, and Charlie Weasley made a very good pillow. Settling against her brother's shoulder and effectively pinning him in place, Ginny made herself comfortable. If she had to wait for Harry to arrive, she would at least pass the time in a pleasant and time consuming manner. Maybe, if she were lucky, she'd even forget to be nervous about his coming.

Butterflies fluttered in her stomach at the thought.

Right.

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There it is then! The first chapter to the prequel of Seasonal Suffering. Drop a review and let me know what you think!


	2. Elephantine Embarrassment

**Antithesis**

Disclaimer: I don't own anything even remotely related to Harry Potter, except a little of the merchandise.

Notes: So long since my last update! I apologize; circumstances ran away with me. However, I am rather fond of this story (mostly because I am rather fond of Seasonal Suffering, which is this story's sequel and my baby) so I intend to finish it; it's just that, being an upperclassman and all, I'm super busy. Sigh. But I'll do my best (I miss writing!).

**IMPORTANT NOTE!:** Now that the sixth book is out, I find it necessary to clarify the fact that this story is now an "alternate universe" story-meaning that it no longer follows the timeline of events set in the books created by J.K Rowling. It follows accurately up to, and including, book five (_Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_), but book six is not included herein (I would like to point out, however, that I totally called it… *wild, self-satisfied, almost-but-not-quite maniacal laughter*).

This one's short but sweet—enjoy.

**Chapter Two: Elephantine Embarrassment **

Irritation. It was often the first emotion that Ginny felt upon waking, because sleeping was one of her favorite things to do, but this time it was worse than usual because there were voices nearby and there shouldn't be.

_Why are there people in my room?_

She made the effort to frown but found that her muscles were still too sleepy to respond to her mental nudges. It really didn't help that someone was running a hand through her hair—that often made her relax to the point of falling asleep. _I hate dozing_, she thought, her mind drifting fuzzily over the concept. _You can hear all the things going on around you, and you just can't make yourself respond to any of it_. Just then, one of the voices sounded in a deep rumble beneath her ear.

"You didn't have any trouble then?"

Ginny could hear there was some kind of response, but she was too busy trying to figure out why her pillow was able to talk to really understand what it was. About the same time she realized her pillow was also hard and somewhat bony, the deep rumbling under her ear came again.

"Good," it said, "Mum'll be relieved."

_Charlie?_ She tried to frown again, and this time she felt her brow respond sluggishly to her demand that it express displeasure. _Why am I sleeping on Charlie?_

The other voice responded again, this time in a questioning tone, and Ginny was attentive enough this time to at least realize that she recognized the voice—though she didn't really know whose it was.

"Probably for awhile yet," a third voice said. "I don't think she's been sleeping well lately."

Okay, that was definitely Ron. _Did I fall asleep in the living room?_ She fought the sleep still fogging her brain and vaguely recalled that she _had_ felt a bit tired while reading that book, so she supposed she might have drifted off. But it was odd that she was still there—usually her brothers shifted her to her bedroom, or at least her own couch, when she fell asleep while using them for pillows. Feeling a little panicked now, she tried to force her body to finish waking up, but it seemed reluctant to obey—someone was still stroking her hair.

"Has she been having nightmares again?" the familiar but as-yet-unidentified voice asked.

_They're talking about me!_ she realized with a start.

"If she has, she hasn't told me about them," Ron replied. There was a moment of silence. The hand (_Charlie's_ she realized absently) paused momentarily on the back of her head, and she felt Charlie shift slightly beneath her.

"No," he said, as if answering a question. _Or a look from Ron_, she realized. "She hasn't said anything to me either."

_And why would I?_ she thought indignantly, feeling the space between her eyes creasing again. _Honestly, the world doesn't need to know that I still occasionally dream about that git Tom Riddle, now does it?_

"Hm." She could hear cards shuffling in the ensuing silence, felt the hand moving through her hair and despite all efforts to the contrary, she felt herself drifting back to sleep as the silence lengthened. So she only vaguely heard it when the kitchen door swung open.

"I'm home!," Bill's voice called brightly, and Ginny, startled by the loudness of it, could hear his footsteps coming closer even as Ron shushed him irritably.

"Gin's asleep, Bill," he hissed, and she felt a surge of warmth at her brother's protectiveness.

"Whoops," she heard her oldest brother whisper, and she knew he was nearby because she could smell the sunshine and grass from outside clinging to his clothes. "Charlie," she heard him say, and felt her second oldest brother shift carefully beneath her, heard the sound of their palms connecting even as she felt Bill lean into the awkward hug she knew they were sharing over the back of the couch. Then there was a hand laid softly on her hair, a _different_ hand, and she felt a gentle kiss pressed against her temple even as her brother's long hair swept across the top of her head and over her cheek and she realized he had moved to lean over the back of the sofa above her. She tried to open her eyes to greet him properly, and was very close to managing it, when she heard him move away and felt a pang of disappointment.

_I want my Bill hug!_ she thought childishly.

"Ron," she heard Bill say, followed again by the sound of palms connecting and Ron being pulled out of his chair into Bill's arms. There was the slap of hands on backs, and Ginny got her bleery eyes open just in time to see Ron settle himself back in his chair—a chair which was situated directly across from that of—

"All right there, Harry?" she could hear the smile in Bill's voice, even as she stared in disbelief at the green-eyed boy seated across the living room.

"All right," the now understandably familiar voice answered, accompanied by a quick smile and the clasp of hands. "You?"

_Harry Potter is here_! she thought desperately, tuning out Bill's response to Harry's question. _He's here. Right here in my house, in my living room! And I've been sleeping. Ginny, you dolt, how could you fall asleep? Who knows how long he's been here!_

Mortified, she slammed her eyes shut again and twisted so her face was buried against her brother's neck to hide her embarrassment. The hand in her hair paused in its ministrations.

"Gin?" Charlie murmured, and she felt him pull back a little in an attempt to look at her. She just wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face further with a quiet moan.

"Is she waking up?" Ron asked, and she could feel the other occupants of the room turning to look at her.

"I'm not sure," Charlie lied, his hand resuming its gentle stroking. The room was silent for a few seconds while Ginny tried and failed to gather the courage to look up and greet her newly-arrived brother and her friend, then the conversation across the room picked up again. Ginny suddenly felt Charlie shift and pull her closer. His mouth dropped down near her ear, his cheek against her hair, and he very softly whispered, "You have to come out sometime."

"Don' wanna," she replied, voice equally quiet.

"Come on, Gin-bug, it's not so bad."

"Yes it is."

"Why?"

"I was sleeping!" she hissed.

"He hasn't even been here long, Ginny. And you're adorable when you sleep."

"You said that about me when I was five and drooling all over my pillow too, Charlie," she told him, exasperated and still embarrassed.

"And it was as true then as it is now. Come on, Gin, come out. I haven't seen your pretty smile in weeks and weeks; it's not very nice of you to sleep through my first afternoon home and deny me your radiant company." He paused and then continued, his tone sly, "I'm sure Harry feels the same way."

"Charlie!" she squealed, forgetting to be quiet, and jerked, red-faced, from her brother's embrace to punch his arm (remembering only at the last minute to aim for the uninjured one). He laughed at her outright so she glared at him and crossed her arms over her chest, turning her face away disdainfully.

"Charlie Weasley, what have you done to our dear baby sister?" Bill demanded in mock outrage. He opened his arms to her. "Come here, Gin-bug. I'll make sure he doesn't do it again."

Ginny glared at her oldest brother now. "Bill, I am not a child," she informed him, "I don't need your protection." Nevertheless, she rose from her place on the couch and hurried into the familiar comfort of her brother's arms, deciding to ignore for the moment the disturbingly handso-no the disturbingly un-handso-wait that wasn't right either. She sighed. Fine, the just plain old disturbing presence of Harry Potter just three feet away.

Hugging her brother tightly, she stood on tiptoe and asked, "Have you been being careful?" Sometimes, when she let herself really think about it, it scared her that he was off working for the Order of the Phoenix, even though it probably wasn't any more dangerous than his normal curse-breaking duties. She couldn't seem to help but remind him to be careful whenever she saw him.

"Of course, Mum," he answered teasingly. She scowled and smacked his arm too.

"I see that dating Fleur hasn't taught you any manners whatsoever!" She told him, annoyed. He just laughed and pulled her back against him, smiling against her hair as he lifted her up to swing her back and forth enthusiastically, ignoring her now laughing protests. "I missed you, Ginny," he told her. "How've you been?"

Ginny leaned back to look him in the eye, catching a note of concern under the teasing overtones. "I'm good, Bill," she told him, then smiled and kissed both his cheeks. "Now put me down so I can say hello to Harry."

He did not put her down. Instead he looked at her in shock and said, "Say hello to Harry? You haven't done that yet? Why ever not?"

"She was _sleeping_, you git, now put her down," Ron stated in a monotone that clearly implied he doubted his brother's intelligence. Bill glanced down at his youngest brother and promptly dropped Ginny. Arms freed, he proceeded to smack the back of Ron's head. Hard. But Ron was sixteen now and just as tall has his oldest sibling, a fact Bill had apparently forgotten. Glaring up at him, Ron wasted no time leaping to his feet and grabbing Bill around the neck, trapping him in an exceedingly uncomfortable position.

"That was uncalled for," Ron told him, tightening his hold and glaring harder at his struggling brother. Ron's recent achievement of his adult height had certainly evened things out when it came to these brotherly "conversations" (as they called them). Even so, Bill might have withstood this treatment and even reversed it except that Ginny, annoyed at having been dropped so hard on her bum (the second embarrassing thing to happen in front of Harry in less than five minutes!), reached out and kicked the back of his knee with her foot, and her brother went down hard. Unfortunately he dragged Ron down with him and this started a wrestling match Ginny decided she didn't much want to be on the floor with. Seeing her plight, Charlie waded in to stop them, but they just pulled him into it with a few well placed punches and a scathing insult or two ("Slimy git!" "Knock it off you freckled little pillock!" "Oh you're one to talk, Charlie! You have so many you're practically tan with them!" "You need to learn some respect for your elders, little brother!" "Old is right!" "That's it!"). Poor Ginny just barely managed to escape with her life, scooting back so fast she just knew she'd have rug-burn in some very awkward places and clambering desperately to her feet near the door of the entryway. Despite her speed, Ron's flailing foot still caught her behind the ankle and would have sent her to the ground again if a pair of strong hands hadn't caught her and pulled her securely back against a warm body. Startled, she turned to glance at her rescuer and found her gaze caught by a pair of amused green eyes (way too!) close to her own.

Harry chuckled. "Hello Ginny," he greeted warmly, smiling that wide genuine smile he saved for people he really liked. Unreasonably, Ginny felt her breath catch, and, mentally scowling, silently reminded herself to get her lungs checked out the next time she visited the mediwitch. Clearly there was something wrong with them.

"Harry," she replied, desperately fighting the foolish grin she felt spreading inexorably across her face. Try as she might, she was unable to stop herself (despite the voices screaming protests in her head and demanding to know what she thought she was doing with this boy she most definitely was _not_ interested in thank-you-very-much-Charlie-Weasley!) from turning around to face him fully before leaning into the unexpected (not to mention horrible, awkward and not at all nice or warm or heart stopping—and no Harry Potter did not smell good) hug he was suddenly offering. Settling (completely un-) comfortably against him, Ginny sighed in ridiculously unexplainable contentment and, smile still in place, whispered softly, "Welcome home."

What else could Harry do but hug her back and smile too?

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I know, I know; it's rather short for all that you had to wait so long for it. But give me a break! I wrote it, despite persistent writer's block, in two hours, when I should have been writing one of the four papers I have due very very all too soon (It was, however, obviously more enjoyable to write this than my paper—any of them—would have been!). It might be a couple of weeks before I manage to update again—I have to get through the last few weeks of the semester, which include finals as well as a million papers, before I can really afford to work on this again. But the upside is that I'll have three and a half glorious weeks of Christmas break to write to my little authorial heart's content. In the meantime, reports of my progress can be found, as always on my profile page. Now review, review, review!


	3. Fighting Fiasco

**Antithesis**

Disclaimer: I don't own anything even remotely related to Harry Potter, except a little bit of merchandise.

Notes: Sorry, sorry, sorry! Sooooo sorry! I was super busy with school and had the worst writer's block this summer and then school again and… well, I won't bore you anymore with my silly, unacceptable excuses; I know you'd rather be reading the chapter.

**Chapter Three: Fighting Fiasco**

After the rather embarrassing events surrounding Harry's arrival, Ginny expected all signs of nervousness to completely disappear. After all, with a greeting as absolutely appalling as hers had been, what with the sleeping and the dropping and the almost falling followed by that all-too-mushy-for-someone-who-is-just-a-friend hug, how could things possibly get any worse? And if things couldn't get worse, she shouldn't be nervous, right?

She really should have known better than to challenge fate like that. With the luck she'd been having, really, she should have known better.

She hated that Murphy and his stupid law.

To begin with, her nerves did not go away; they got worse. She could hardly even sit in the same room with Harry without feeling nauseous, the butterflies in her stomach were fluttering so much. And she couldn't seem to keep a blush off her face. From the moment that hug had ended…well, that had really been the beginning of the end for her day, hadn't it?

Hugging Harry had been amazing (she didn't even want to think about why), so it took her several moments, standing there in his arms, safe and comfortable (no, she wasn't going to think about those thoughts either!) to realize that _she was still standing in his arms!_ With her head on his shoulder no less! She had blushed furiously, of course (she couldn't seem to help that at all anymore—stupid fair skin!), and had backed out of his embrace rather awkwardly. Luckily her brothers were still so involved in their fight that none of them had noticed. Unfortunately, the fight which she had all of two seconds to be grateful for had moved closer to where she and Harry were standing during the duration of their friendly little hug, and the foot which had only failed to bring her to the ground the first time because of Harry's intervention was phenomenally successful in its second attempt. With a particularly aggressive snarl, Ron threw himself across Charlie in an effort to repay Bill for a jab to his side and managed to sweep his sister clean off her feet with one flailing leg in the process. With a loud yelp, Ginny went flying head first into the writhing mass of testosterone and landed with uncanny precision directly on Charlie's stomach.

"Oof!" exclaimed her second favorite brother, shifting sharply beneath the sudden weight that forced all the air from his lungs and causing his sister to lean right into the arm he was flailing in an attempt to balance their awkward position. Wincing at the feel of his hand connecting with the side of her head, she sat up to gingerly test the damage done.

Just in time to receive a sharp blow from an elbow to her ribs as Ron scrambled to escape Bill's revenge.

And the retaliatory punch Bill had been aiming at Ron's face before Ginny's got in the way.

Ginny was already sporting the beginnings of a spectacular black eye by the time the four siblings got themselves sorted out, not to mention a bruised rib or two and a very large lump on the side of her head, she was sure. Ignoring all four hands offering her help up from the floor, Ginny struggled to her feet with her hand covering the injured eye, and glared with the other at her three brothers. They were all trying not to laugh even as they asked if she was all right and she batted their half-hearted attempts to comfort her away with an angry vigor. She was determined that she would not break down in tears right then and there despite the pain she was experiencing, but then she caught sight of Harry looking very concerned as he watched the exchange over Ron's shoulder, and realized that he had just witnessed the whole thing. She was mortified, both by the fact that she had been accidentally battered in front of him, and at her brothers' cruel amusement by it, and she felt a sharp stab of pain in her chest that had nothing to do with her injuries. Horrified by the whole situation, she only just refrained from running away, and forced herself to settle for an ice princess façade instead. Lifting her nose into the air imperiously, with _both_ hands at her side (there were sudden gasps all around at the sight of her face), she turned sharply on her heel and made it all the way through the kitchen door before she couldn't hold it in any more and broke down in tears.

Angry tears. Furious tears even.

Furious enough that when she heard her brothers coming towards the door in quick pursuit (the sight of her eye having made them realize that they had actually _hurt _their beloved baby sister; though how they could have missed it in the first place, honestly…) she thrust a chair up under the knob so that the door that was expected to open easily, in fact, did not.

The brother in the lead (Bill, by the sound of it) slammed (_hopefully head first_, she thought vengefully) into the door he had expected to open at a touch, and the other two slammed into him, with some rather painful sounding results. Ginny smirked triumphantly at the door through her tears, then turned to assess her situation. She needed to leave, and she needed to do it fast. Two of her brothers, some part of her was calm enough to remember, were old enough to use magic whenever they pleased, and if she stuck around to gloat about the door they'd only manage to convince her they were suitably remorseful about hurting her, and Ginny didn't want to be convinced. They'd broken the Cardinal Rule of the Weasley family: never make Ginny angry.

She was _so_ far beyond angry.

_Short of several obvious exceptions during my first year,_ Ginny thought, _this is the worst day of my life. But if I'm going to have a bad day, I'm taking them with me_.

And the enraged girl, whose penchant for revenge on a Fred-and-George-at-their-worst level was the inspiration for the Weasley Cardinal Rule, set off in search of her mother.

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The sound of Mrs. Weasley's voice echoed through the house for a good forty-five minutes in retribution for her sons' behavior, and that wasn't including the fifteen minutes she'd spent chasing them down and escorting them to the living room, one by one. The boys, truly concerned about their sister's injuries (once they'd realized she had any) had split up in an attempt to locate her. They had spent some time searching, too, for Molly had taken her daughter straight to St. Mungo's almost as soon as she laid eyes on her, pausing only long enough for Ginny to run up and snag Hermione from their shared room before flooing to the Wizarding hospital. Because her case wasn't really an emergency, Ginny was required to wait before she could see the mediwitch, and her mother took advantage of the forced delay to question her daughter about the cause of her injuries. With a satisfied gleam, Ginny told her the whole story. In detail. Twice. Which gave her mother ample time to really stew over the situation, working herself into an absolute rage as she paced the halls and muttered to herself about what she would do to those boys when she got her hands on them.

By the time they got home an hour and a half later, Mrs. Weasley was absolutely livid.

Ginny, who was listening to the Reckoning with half an ear from her bedroom upstairs, really couldn't be happier.

With a self-satisfied little smirk, Ginny studied her brother's "borrowed" chessboard one final time and came to a decision. "Knight to G5," she commanded over the beautifully resonant sound of her mother's anger.

"Really what were you thinking? I can't believe any sons of mine—"

"Don't you think setting your mother on them was a bit extreme?" Hermione asked mildly, examining the board in turn. "Castle to H5," she added confidently, and watched as the specified piece moved accordingly and crushed one of Ginny's pawns_**.**_

"She's your baby sister, for heaven's sake! You're supposed to protect her, not hit her! Honestly, I don't know how you can live with—"

Ginny shot her friend a disgusted look. "Did you _see_ my eye this afternoon, or did you somehow manage to overlook the gigantic black inflammation it gained after Bill _punched_ it?" She moved her next piece while Hermione looked on in amusement, and Ginny smirked at the other girl in response. "Trust me," she told her, "this is far from over. My brothers have not even begun to make amends for completely humiliating me today." Hermione looked up sharply, a knowing little smile spreading over her face as she examined the redhead distractedly listening to the yelling rise from the living room below.

"And how many times have I told you not to wrestle in the house? How many times?"

"Only about a thousand!" Ginny answered vehemently. Hermione shook her head and went back to the game, shifting her bishop in preparation to capture Ginny's knight.

"I can't even begin to express how angry I am-"

"I thought she was doing a pretty good job of it, myself," muttered Hermione with a snicker. Ginny followed her example with a wicked chuckle of her own.

"—_ought to get down on your knees and ask her for forgiveness—"_

"Ooo! I like where this is going!"

"Ginny!" Hermione giggled.

"—be lucky if she gives it too!"

"Extremely lucky!" Ginny added, thrusting her finger into the air for emphasis and making Hermione laugh outright. "In fact," the red head continued, standing up to glare at the door with her hands on her hips as though it were her brothers standing there instead, "you ought to bow down before me, abasing yourselves whilst you beg for my forgiveness!" Ginny was on a roll now, and she began to pace as she expressed her grand dream of brotherly remorse. Hermione was in hysterics. "And if, miraculously, I'm in a good mood," the younger girl exclaimed, "I might deign to notice you are there! I might even speak to you! 'Leave my presence immediately!' I'll say, and if you obey quickly enough, I might even bother to call you back once I've decided on a suitable punishment. 'Allow me to play with the baby dragons,' I'll command Charlie, 'Bake me all my favorite treats without Mum's help' I'll demand of Bill, and 'Give me all those comfy, cuddly jumpers you've got in your room' I'll order Ron. And of course you shall fall all over yourselves to obey, because you _hit_ me! I _still_ can't believe they did that!" Ginny breathlessly concluded, falling backwards onto her bed as she finished her tirade.

Hermione, still snickering, wiped the tears from her eyes and replied, "It really wasn't on purpose, you know."

"I know. But they did hit me, all three of them. And then they laughed about it. It really hurt too!"

"Not to mention they did all of that in front of Harry," Hermione slyly added. Ginny flung an arm over her face with a groan at the reminder, but Hermione didn't miss the bright flush spreading over friend's cheeks as she did so. There was a speculative look in the older girl's eye as she studied her embarrassed friend, but Ginny missed this glaringly obvious warning because her arm still covered her face. "I think," Hermione added in a neutral tone, "that might possibly have been the worst part."

"Tell me about it. I mean he only just got here, and already I've been utterly humiliated fifty times in front of him!"

"Fifty? You don't think that might be exaggerating a bit?" Hermione drawled, arching an eyebrow at her friend. Ginny came out from beneath her arm long enough to glare at the older girl.

"If it feels like fifty, and believe me it does, then it counts."

"That's a lot of humiliation, Ginny. Do you feel this way every time you get embarrassed, or is it only in front of Harry?"

Ginny's arm dropped away from her face and hit the bed with a thud. "Where are you going with this Hermione?" Ginny asked, eyes narrowed in sudden suspicion.

"I'm just saying, Harry's the only one I've noticed having this kind of affect on you. I'm just wondering if it means anything."

Ginny's eyes narrowed further. "Like what?"

"Well, if I'm going to be entirely honest with you, Gin, and I've heard that honesty is important in friendships, then it looks to me as though there's something going on with you where Harry's concerned."

"Like what?" Ginny's voice came out as a growl this time.

"Well, you dress up for him, you care what he thinks of you, you get embarrassed by things you wouldn't think twice about if they happened in front of other people…it really all points to one thing."

"Granger, if this is going where I think it is, I'm warning you—"

Hermione continued as if Ginny hadn't spoken. "—the blushing, a lot of unnecessary stress…really, Gin, I think you fancy him."

Ginny sat bolt upright. "_What?_"

"Well, what else could it be?"

"I admit that there might be some…minimal…attraction there…"

"Ah-hah! I knew it!"

"Hermione! He's a good looking boy, even you have to admit that, but that doesn't mean I particularly fancy him."

"But you admit that you find him attractive!"

"Well yes, but—"

"And you can't deny that that attraction extends to more than just his looks, right?"

"I guess that's true, but—"

"For instance, you find yourself drawn to his sense of humor? His intelligence? His kindness to others and his self-sacrificial nature?"

"Well I suppose but—"

"See!"

"See what? Hermione, he's gorgeous and sweet and gentle and funny and what girl wouldn't be attracted to that? But it doesn't mean a thing. He's my friend! Of course I'm going to notice when he's nice enough to stop and help the first years find their classes, or when he looks up and shoots me that smile he reserves only for the people he cares the most about, or when he's absolutely miserable because he has to save the world all on his own but he still makes an attempt to cheer me up if he notices that I'm upset, when the only reason I'm upset is because his sadness is breaking my heart!"

"Ginny—" Hermione was smiling.

"I may notice those things, Hermione, but that most definitely doesn't mean I'm in love with him!"

"Gin—" the smile had become a grin.

"I mean, love involves all those mushy, melty feelings, which I most definitely do not feel. And there's all that staring, and worrying about appearances, and wanting to spend time with them, and putting them before yourself."

"Ginny, I—"

"I am not in love with Harry, okay! What will it take to get that through your head?"

Hermione snickered. "Ginny, nobody said anything about love."

"What?"

Hermione was laughing now. "I simply pointed out that you fancy him. I never said anything about being in love with him."

"I—You—I'm not—_What?_"

"But," the brunette added between wicked bouts of laughter, "now that I know how you really feel about him…"

"What? What do you mean how I really feel about him? Hermione, you entirely missed the point, I don't feel anything—You know what? I don't have to listen to this. I'm going downstairs to eat cookies. When you've come to your senses, I suppose you can come down and join me." She looked haughtily down at her friend, but when Hermione just continued laughing, she sniffed and left the room.

"Fancy him? Honestly…" she muttered to herself, pounding down the stairs because she liked the sound, and taking the back way to the kitchen because she could still hear her mother scolding her brothers in the living room, albeit in a much quieter voice.

She was still feeling rather disgruntled by the time she reached the kitchen and got settled against the counter with a handful of cookies and an ice-cold glass of milk. She was frustrated with Hermione, and confused by what she had said. In a way it made sense, after all she did get butterflies in her stomach whenever he was around and she had thought about him a lot lately, but really, she had just been concerned for his well-being and she was just glad to see that he was safe, and…and…

And she'd outgrown her little crush on Harry years ago, honestly! There was no way she still felt that way about him. Again. At all.

Right?

Right.

"All right there, Gin?"

"Eep!" And the startled redhead, so immersed in thinking of Harry that she hadn't heard the object of her thoughts enter the room, promptly knocked over her glass of milk with her elbow. Growling wordlessly, she pushed herself away from the counter and began cleaning up, muttering under her breath about stupid boys and their stupid sneaky habits, all the while neglecting to notice exactly which boy it was that had startled her so.

Harry, standing slightly bewildered just inside the doorway, cleared his throat and cautiously ventured to draw attention to himself. "Umm, Ginny?" his voice was tentative but audible, and Ginny stopped in the process of throwing her soiled cleaning rag in the sink to stare at the one who would dare intrude upon her solitude and cause her to make such a mess.

And promptly blushed from neck to hairline.

"Harry! Er…hello?" She offered him a wavery smile and dropped the rag in the sink.

Harry's previously bewildered look had morphed into a cautious but more relaxed expression. "I just wanted to check and see how you were doing," he told her, pulling out a chair and sitting down at the kitchen table, still watching her warily.

"Oh! Um…well, fine I guess," Ginny replied, dropping into a chair across from Harry and blushing again at the thought of him watching her go flying into her brothers and getting smacked. And elbowed. And punched… Ginny winced in embarrassment, then cleared her throat.

"Right." Harry said, catching the expression. "I'm sure your brothers are very sorry."

Ginny growled a little. "No doubt they are," she told him, and continued under her breath, "serves them right, the blighters."

Harry fought to contain a smile at her vindictiveness. "But you do intend to forgive them, right?"

"Eventually," Ginny sniffed.

"Oh good. Ron's going to be bad enough after getting scolded by your mother without having to deal with a guilt complex as well."

"I'm still considering stringing him along a bit, just to warn you."

Harry groaned.

"He hit me, Harry!"

"Can't I just, you know, hit him back for you? Because he deserves it, after all. Wouldn't that be good enough?"

Ginny ignored the warm feeling his words caused in the pit of her stomach and focused on her anger instead. "Nope. Sorry Harry, not good enough." He made a strangled sort of groaning sound in protest, and she looked at him sternly. "He _hit_ me. And he _laughed_."

"So _I_ should suffer?" He shot her a pathetic, unhappy look. "That's not at all fair."

"Sorry Harry. There's nothing I can do about that." A cool evening breeze blew in through the open kitchen window as she spoke, and Ginny shuddered. Summer or not, evenings were still cold enough to want a jumper most days, and it was getting later than she had thought. Rubbing her arms to rid herself of the goosebumps, Ginny glanced around for a solution.

"Cold, Gin?" Harry sounded amused.

Ginny nodded absently and eyed his jumper-clad torso. _It is not my fault he looks so nice in ribbed garments_, she told herself when she realized she was not only noticing his jumper, but admiring the way he looked in it. _It doesn't mean anything._

"Gin?" Harry was looking at her funny.

"What?" She met his eyes, and hers widened in sudden realization. "Oh! Sorry!" She could feel herself blushing. _Stop that! You have absolutely no reason to be blushing in that revolting manner. You've nothing to be embarrassed about. And it clashes with your hair! _She frowned. _Now what was I thinking about?_ She shivered again. _Right._

Eyeing Harry's sweater once again, Ginny's expression went from thoughtful to cunning in next to no time at all. Seeing this Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Harry," she said, stretching out the sound of his name as she slowly raised her eyes to his. "You know where Ron keeps his jumpers, don't you?"

Harry met her gaze full on, and found himself swallowing nervously for no reason he could fathom.

"Sure, Gin."

"Good. That's very good."

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Ginny was comfortably seated on her window seat, snuggled up in Ron's favorite black jumper and quietly turning the pages of one of Hermione's books when her brothers came in bearing a loaded tray and somber, apologetic expressions.

"Ginny?" She looked up from her book at the sound of Bill's voice, and eyed her brothers warily. "We just wanted to tell you how sorry we were."

"Yeah, we didn't mean to drag you into our fight and hurt you like that," Ron mumbled awkwardly. "We're really sorry."

"Forgive us?" Charlie looked at her with imploring blue eyes and a bit of a pout.

Ginny tried to stay angry while she thought about it. She really did! But she'd had a long time to cool down now, and she loved her brothers, and they looked so upset that she just couldn't do it. So she sighed (because she was annoyed with herself for giving in quite so easily) and met each pair of bright blue eyes (the one thing she had _not_ inherited from her mother, blast it all!) and said, "All right, you're forgiven." Relieved smiles spread across their faces. "On several conditions!" she added, a wicked idea forming in her head. She had been joking earlier, when she'd been talking to Hermione about punishments, but on second thought, some of them had some merit…

"What conditions?" Bill asked cautiously.

Ginny eyed them for a moment, considering. If her demands were too extreme, they would flatly refuse no matter how sorry they were. On the other hand, she couldn't help wondering how far she could push them. Ginny hadn't a genuinely mean bone in her body, but they had hurt her and embarrassed her in front of Harry, and while she was no longer angry, she still felt she deserved some compensation. After a moment, she decided Ron would be the easiest to deal with, and so she started there.

"You," she said, meeting his eyes, "will let me keep this jumper."

Ron's brow furrowed as he looked at his sister practically swimming in his sweater, and cautiously asked, "Why would you want my jumper?"

Ginny was surprised that he was asking as nicely as he was; she had half expected him to blow up at the idea. Upon closer inspection, he _was_ a little red about the ears, but he wasn't even really protesting. He must feel really bad if he was willing to give up one of his favorite jumpers so easily. It made her feel a little guilty, but she was determined. She had always wanted one of Ron's jumpers, any one of them, ever since she was very small. She used to go into his room whenever he wasn't home and snuggle up in them for comfort, especially during that first year he went off to Hogwarts, but she'd always been careful to put them back afterwards. Ron never knew and she hadn't done it since then…but she was still in love with them, and now might be her only chance to get her hands on one rightfully.

"Because they're so comfortable," she told him. "They're big and soft and warm, and they smell like you, and I've always wanted to steal one."

Ron went more than a little red about the ears, and Ginny was fairly certain it wasn't because he was angry this time. Clearing his throat, the embarrassed boy nodded. "S'yours then," he mumbled. She smiled and opened her arms, and he didn't even hesitate to come give her a hug. Striding across the room in three ground eating steps, he sat beside her, swept her off her seat and pulled her half across his lap instead. "I'm so, so, _sorry_," he whispered to her hair, and she knew by his tone that he'd been killing himself over this all day. She just sat there and hugged him back and told him it was all right, and when he had control over himself again, she kissed his cheek and turned to Charlie.

"I want to play with the baby dragons," she told him without preamble.

"No," he answered, just as quickly.

Ginny sighed. She hadn't thought that would work—baby dragons were really dangerous, as they tended to burp fire at whatever was closest that moved and then try to eat it—but she had thought it worth a shot.

"All right. But I do want to come watch one day when you go back to work, and maybe help with the feeding or something." Charlie looked ready to refuse again, so she quickly jumped in. "Okay not the feeding, but at least let me watch! Come on Charlie, you've been buying me stuffed dragons since I was six, and feeding me stories about dragons at your job since I was ten. You can't tell me you didn't expect this to happen eventually. Please Charlie? I'll follow orders explicitly, and I won't do anything dangerous, really; I just want to see them. Please? Please Charlie?" She looked at him with wide eyes and pouted.

"All right, all right!" Charlie laughed, "I give in! You can come see the dragons. But!" he said loudly, holding up a finger to forestall her shout of joy. "You have to promise—_promise_—to do what you're told. I'm not kidding, Ginny! No brave stunts, no 'But I just wanted to get closer to see them better,' nothing like that. Got it?"

"I promise," she breathed excitedly.

"All right then. I'll have to clear it with my boss first, but if he okays it, you can come."

"Yes!" she cried, jumping up and running to give him a hug too. After _his_ apology, and her reassurances, she finally faced Bill.

This one was a bit harder. Her request for Bill was actually something she'd been thinking about for a while now, but she hadn't known how to ask without causing him to fly off the handle about it. She really didn't want to dampen the mood this way, but really, this was probably her best chance to get what she wanted from him with the least amount of fuss. After all, he owed her.

"Bill," she began slowly, thoughtfully, "I want to learn more about defensive magic, and I want you to teach me."

Surprised, Bill looked about to question her, but Ginny continued before he could. "There's going to be a war soon, and you're off your rocker if you think I'm just going to sit on my bum in safety rather than be a part of it." All three of her brothers opened their mouths to protest, but she cut them off. "I'm not going to run about shouting hexes and pretending to be an auror, if that's what you think," she told them, "but I _do_ intend to become a mediwitch. I'm already studying with Madam Pomfrey, and I seem to have a knack for it. But even I know it's not the safest job; in wartime, mediwitches tend to work in the field, and I think it…prudent…to know some good defensive spells on the off chance something happens. You work for the Order, Bill, and you break curses for a living; you've got to know tons about this kind of thing. Will you teach me?"

Her oldest brother eyed her hesitantly and ran a hand through long red hair, mussing his ponytail. "You seem to have this all planned out," he told her, stalling for time while he thought about it. He exchanged looks with Ron and Charlie, then studied her for a long moment, eyes hard, and nodded once. "I'll teach you everything I know," he told her fiercely. "And then I'll look up some more and teach you those too. By the time I'm done, there won't be a spell in existence you can't defend against, save one."

"I don't intend to run across that one," she whispered.

"No one ever does," he answered, then pulled her into a tight hug. "But you'll be as safe as I can make you."

"Thanks, Bill."

"Aw!" cried Charlie. "Group hug!"

"No!" Ginny shouted, her voice muffled by Bill's shoulder. "Charlie, Ron, no! No!" But to no avail. Ron hit them first and about knocked the breath out of Ginny when his chest hit her back. Charlie was only a second behind him, slamming into their sides and wrapping his arms as far around the outside of the group as he could. Ginny, smooshed in the middle, could hardly breathe with all the pressure on her ribs, but somehow, now that she was surrounded by the brothers she loved so much, she could hardly bring herself to care. She didn't know how long it lasted, whether two minutes or ten, but it didn't seem long enough when they finally pulled away.

"Come on, Gin," said Charlie, taking her hand and leading her back to her window seat. He set a tray piled high with her mother's aromatic cooking on her lap. "We figured that since we caused you to miss dinner, the least we could do was make it up to you."

She looked up at them as they sat down around her and gave them a watery smile. "I'm sorry I was so hard on you."

"We deserved it Gin, now eat your dinner."

Happily, Ginny complied.

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I know it's kind of short, and certainly over due, and I apologize. I have few excuses (see note preceding chapter). I also have to apologize because it will be at least mid to late December before I can update again. I have a huge project due the last day of the semester and I need to be working on that, and I'm not sure where I'm going next with this (again, the writer's block thing). But it's been a year (Oh my gosh!) since my last update, and I thought I ought to get this out. I promise to work hard on chapter four once the semester ends though. In the meantime please accept my sincerest apologies, and have a good Thanksgiving.


	4. Variant Violence

Antithesis

Disclaimer: I don't own anything even remotely related to Harry Potter, except a little bit of merchandise.

Notes: Hello! I know it's been forever (again!) and I apologize (as always) but this chapter refused to take shape for the longest time. And even once the ideas took over my head and ran away with me, the words still would not organize themselves on the page the way I wanted them too. I still don't like some things about this chapter (which may be revised quite a bit at some later date in hopes of remedying this problem) but I was so excited about my birthday that I thought I'd share the joy and give all of you a little gift too. So, after much haste and little editing…chapter four! Enjoy!

**Chapter Four: Variant Violence**

It felt like something was missing. She fisted a hand on her hip with a sigh and examined the counter. "No, that's everything," she muttered to herself, after mentally ticking off each ingredient for the third time. Frustrated with the persistent nagging doubt that no matter how many times she checked, something would still be missing, she couldn't help the tiny frown that creased her forehead. She and Ginny were supposed to bake cookies, and they certainly couldn't do so if something was missing…Oh!

"Honestly, of all the things to forget…" she muttered, and made her way out of the kitchen, through the living room, to the bottom of the stairs in the entryway. Placing one hand on the banister and leaning up as though by posture and will alone she could make her daughter hear her, Molly Weasley drew a deep breath and used all the (considerable) lung-power at her disposal to call her truant daughter's name.

"Ginny!"

Now normally, when Molly Weasley went calling for her children, she had some difficulty in finding them. On occasion, she liked to fool herself into thinking that she didn't understand why this was, but in reality, she knew her children hated housework. And since she rarely called for them when she didn't have some chore or other she wanted them to do, they found all sorts of ways to avoid the inevitable. They pretended to be busy, to be writing a letter, to be on an errand for Arthur, to be grievously injured. When most desperate, they worked on homework, or even cleaned their room—because that, at least, they could stop as soon as she was out of sight—but more often than not, they just disappeared. Vanished into thin air, poof! just like that. Molly never understood how they managed it, but she did know that eventually she always managed to track them down. Molly had been a mother for a very long time, and if there was one thing motherhood had taught her, it was perseverance. She would search and she would call until Ginny appeared, or she would die with the effort, and heaven help the child then!

"Ginny!"

_Honestly!_ Molly thought, placing one foot on the first stair and peering up the rickety staircase as if the lack of sound alone wasn't enough to convince her Ginny wasn't coming. _Things in this household would be much less hectic if people would just come when called. I don't have nearly this much trouble getting their attention when it's mealtime!_ She paused at that thought, snorted, and shook her head.

Of course not. Where there was food, there were Weasleys.

"Ginevra Weasley! Don't you make me come up there!" she cried, already starting the inevitable climb to the third story. As expected, there was no response. Sighing, Molly continued her ascent, muttering under her breath the entire way: "I could have sworn I taught you all better than this, and yet every time—Ginny!—I need something done, you all disappear. And you of all people, Ginny. You're supposed to be the sweet, obedient little girl. Ginny!—I raised six boys. Six! I deserve a break. But no," she huffed. "I did not survive Fred and George only to perish looking for you." Half way to her destination, Molly froze and shook her head. What was she doing? She wasn't looking for someone to degnome the garden! There were cookies to be made. She was wasting time! Tilting her head back, Molly raised her voice to carry up the stairs even as she turned to go back down them. "All right then, I guess I'll just have to bake cookies alone!"

A moment's pause and then, "Coming, Mum!"

_Where there is food…_Smiling a secret, motherly smile, Molly made her way to the kitchen.

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When Ginny had finished baking with her mother (and hiding half the finished product from her brothers), Ginny went upstairs to convince Hermione to help her eat some.

"Hermione!" she sang, flinging open the door to her bedroom. "We have freshly baked, homemade, chocolate chip cookies downstairs! Come eat some with me!"

Hermione looked up from the magazine she was reading and studied Ginny with a doubtful eye.

"Gin, are you sure you don't fancy Harry?"

Ginny gaped. Then gaped some more. Then turned a distinctly Weasley shade of reddish-purple and slammed the door shut behind her.

"Are you _mad_?" she gasped, still too busy gaping to achieve the glare Hermione knew was coming.

"No. Why?"

"The door was open; someone could have heard you!" Now she glared.

"Please, Ginny, it's only eleven o'clock in the morning. They're both still in bed."

A loud thump from somewhere above just then made both girls jump, followed by Ron's voice, "Give me just a minute Harry, I'll go down and check." A door slammed, and loud pounding footsteps descended to the third floor, made their way down the hall past Ginny's room, and continued on down the stairs. Ginny glared at Hermione, who looked distinctly (and aggravatingly, annoyingly) nonplussed.

"Still in bed, huh?"

"I know I'm brilliant, Gin, but even I can't control Harry and Ron. If they decide to break their habit and get up early for once, I certainly can't stop them."

Ginny growled in frustration and turned to leave, but Hermione's voice stopped her.

"Aren't you going to answer the question?"

Ginny shot her a questioning glare, and Hermione sighed.

"Are you sure you don't fancy him?"

"_Why_ is this coming up again?"

Hermione gestured to the magazine she'd been reading, one of Ginny's that she'd picked up due to boredom and a morbid curiosity. "Well, it's just that this month's _Teen Witch Weekly_ says that Harry is one of the most eligible bachelors between the ages of fifteen and twenty-five, and that the 'soon to be sixteen year old is catching a lot looks from witches of all ages. With his charming smile, beautiful green eyes, and rugged good looks, this hero in the making surely won't be single for long.' So, I just wanted to know if you were sure. Because you may lose your chance soon you know, what with his being so eligible and all." Hermione looked up from the glossy pages to see Ginny staring at her, face steadily turning red, as she glared at the magazine in Hermione's hands.

"Of all the—as if he'd be interested in any of the hags who'd come hounding after him anyway!" she exploded. "Honestly! He's far too smart for that and besides, they'd have to be old and desperate to go chasing a sixteen-year-old boy just because of a stupid magazine article like that!"

"But it doesn't say he'll be dating someone who reads the article, it just says 'he won't be single for long.' He could end up dating anyone. Someone at school for instance."

"Please! If there were anyone at school he were interested in, don't you think he would be dating them by now?"

"Well—"

" Of course he would! But he's not. And do you know why?" She didn't even pause to give the other girl a chance to take a breath much less answer (or bring up the Cho debacle of the previous school year), and she certainly didn't notice the sly grin growing on Hermione's face. "Because they're all pinheads, that's why. Not a single one is worth his time, and he's smart enough to know it."

"Ginny, I think you—"

"Not to mention the fact that most of them would only want him because he's famous."

"Ginny, I think you should—"

"And rich. Harry wants a girl who's dating him for himself, not for his image or his money!"

Hermione, still smiling slightly, sighed and cut in, "Ginny, can't you just admit, just this once, and then never again, that you thoroughly and completely love him?"

Ginny froze. "You want me to lie to you?"

"No, I want you to _stop_ lying to me."

"Who's lying?"

"Do you fancy him?"

"No!"

"Then _you're_ lying"

"Well, it's not like you have any room to talk, miss I'm in love with Ron Weasley!" Ginny snapped.

"Ginny!" Hermione protested, blushing somewhat. "How many times do I have to tell you that I am _not_ in love with your _brother_?"

"Right. Which is why the two of you have those absolutely sickening eye conversations." Ginny rolled her eyes and moved to sit on the bed beside her friend.

"What? Ginny, what in the world is an 'eye conversation'?"

"You know, those unspoken 'I love you but won't admit it even to myself and neither will you so instead of just getting to the snogging already we'll just sit here and throw each other longing glances of un-admitted and unrecognized love' sort of conversations."

"We do not do anything such thing!" Hermione exclaimed indignantly.

Ginny snickered. "You do so! And the worst is when you're looking at him when he's occupied with something else. Then you go from 'shy hesitant' to 'screaming at the top of my lungs' sort of looks"

"What!" Hermione gasped

"Oh Ron, you're just amazing!" Ginny interpreted mockingly between bouts of laughter. "I love you so much, Ron!"

"Ginny!" squealed Hermione, now blushing furiously and looking horrified.

"Oh Ron!" Ginny laughed harder, falling onto her back on the bed as she rolled away from Hermione's mortified swat. Her feet hit the floor with a thud as she backed towards the door, barely able to speak through her laughter as she avoided the older girl. "Ron, Ron!" she continued teasing.

"Ginny, shut up!" hissed Hermione, lunging at her.

Ginny cackled and leapt out of the way, slamming back into the door and standing defiantly with her hand on the knob, "My dear Ron, how I _do_ love you! If only I could tell you with words, my dearest Ron—" she cut herself off with a shriek when Hermione, a maniacal glint in her eye, leapt to tackle her. Batting the older girl away with flailing arms, Ginny flung open the door and flew out into the hall. Breathless with laughter, she threw back over her shoulder at the pursuing girl, "if only I could tell you with words how much I adore you, my dearest darling Ronald!" just as she reached the end of the hall near the bathroom and yanked open the door to the back stairs. She dodged back out of Hermione's reach again as the girl caught up with her, causing Hermione to trip on the first stair and fall to the floor with what Ginny was sure was a muffled curse, and took advantage of the distraction to leap over the prone figure of her friend and race ahead of her up the staircase. The thumping sound of pursuit tore up the steps after her, accompanied by Hermione's voice shouting what sounded like a threat, but Ginny only forced her legs to climb faster even as she recklessly taunted back, "My dearest Ronald, how can you not see how much—" She hit the door on the fifth floor level with a thump, threw it open and paused long enough to finish, panting, "how much you mean to me, my heart?" At the sound of Hermione's shriek of outrage, and the sight of her hair rounding the twist in the stair, Ginny let out a shriek of laughter and turned to flee for her life. She raced down the hall at full speed and darted into her brother's open doorway, calling at the top of her lungs as she went, "Ron! Oh Ron! My love, my life, Ron!" Suddenly she ran into something hard and unyielding behind her as she backed quickly away from the door. Her laughter died abruptly. Twisting her head up and back, she found herself staring into the bemused green eyes of Harry Potter. Slowly, he arched one dark eyebrow.

"I never knew you felt that way about him, Gin. I guess it's kind of sweet in a twisted seriously wrong sort of way, but I don't think you should tell him. He probably wouldn't take it well." He smirked down at her.

Ginny stared. _Where did he learn how to smirk? I bet it was all those fights with Malfoy. I've never really liked it on the ferret, but on Harry...That expression should be outlawed!_ she thought furiously. Then his words sank in and she blushed violently.

"Ginny!" Hermione rounded the corner after her, and came to a sudden stop as she found Ginny leaning back against Harry, her head tilted back against his chest as she looked up at him. Before Hermione could lash out with an embarrassing but witty comment about Ginny's obviously fancying Hermione's best friend, the redhead's gaze jerked down to meet hers and she suddenly erupted into laughter again. Hermione growled.

"Oh, good Harry, you're here. Hold her for me, will you, while I _kill _her."

Ginny's eyes shot wide, her laughter cutting off with an "eep!" before she dove around behind Harry to avoid the embarrassed girl. This didn't stop Hermione, for Harry was her best friend, and she simply reached around him to grasp at the younger girl.

"Get back here, Ginny Weasley," Hermione threatened as the redhead continued to circle away from her around the poor boy caught between them, "or so help me I'll say things about _you_ and eye conversations!" Ginny, who had finally circled around so that she was on the door side of Harry and was making a swift bid for freedom, whirled around. "You wouldn't dare."

Hermione's eyes were triumphant as she crossed her arms over her chest smugly. "Try me."

Ginny, backing away, and shaking her head, ran suddenly into Ron, who was just coming in the door.

"What's going on up here!" he demanded, gazing around his room.

"Ron!" gasped Hermione, coloring in dismay that he might have overheard.

"Ron!" echoed Ginny, her tone and the look she shot Hermione sly. "Oh Ron!" she sang out. "We have some things to discuss, brother mine."

"Oh no you don't," Hermione stalked forward, and took Ginny's arm in hers. "Come on, Gin, I'm sure we can come to some kind of compromise here, right?"

"Sure, let's talk about it over some of mum's cookies and milk."

Ron watched them leave, then shot a questioning look at Harry, who shook his head, shrugged, and picked up a copy of _Quidditch Through the Ages_.

Ron stood there a moment longer trying to absorb the conversation. In the end he came up with only one thing.

"There are cookies?"

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The next morning found Ginny up before ten (a time of day she liked to pretend didn't even exist during the summer) and completely unable to stand even one more second on her own two feet. She flopped down on her back in the grass with a groan, letting her wand tumble from fingers sore from clenching it too hard.

"Ginny!" Bill cried, scandalized. "Pick that wand up! Never, ever drop your wand or relax your guard."

"Dictator," Ginny muttered in reply, but retrieved her wand. She and Bill were out by the lake behind the Burrow for the first installment of Bill's apology: her defensive magic lessons. "Not that this thing will do me much good, since I can't move, and can't _see_ to move even if I could."

"You might try opening your eyes." Her brother sounded amused.

Ginny frowned as if she were concentrating very hard on following his instructions, then gave a half-hearted shrug. "Nothing doing, I'm afraid. Even my eyelids are exhausted."

"Uh-huh. Gin, we haven't even started spell-work yet." Despite his protest, there was the sound of cloth rustling as he sat down somewhere near her shoulder.

"I know," she told him, "that's the problem! Spell-work I can handle, but all this dodging and feinting and 'proper stance' work is hard on a girl. You realize it's summer, right? My body's trained for sleep and as much laziness as I can get in between chores."

"The best defense is avoidance," Bill replied, adopting again the tone she referred to as his "teacher voice" which he had been using all morning. "You don't ever want to be where a dangerous spell might hit you. Only use defensive magic when you absolutely have to, because it pits your strength to shield against your opponent's strength to strike at you, and you can't always be certain who will win."

"I know," Ginny told him, and she did—he'd told her all this before they'd started their training session. Even so—she made no effort to get up again.

"And you can't use defensive magic effectively if you don't use the proper stance. You'll never be quick nor agile enough to properly shield yourself if you don't train your body to move correctly."

"I know," she agreed.

She could practically feel Bill eyeing her critically, and when she refused to open her eyes to look at him, heard him sigh. He reached out and lifted her wrist from the ground before letting it go. She made no effort to stop him, and her hand hit the ground with a dull thud. Bill sighed again.

"That's it," he muttered, "I'm putting you on a strict exercise schedule too. You're going to do stretches and dueling drills for at least half an hour every day until you don't have this problem anymore."

"Ew," she groaned, but offered no other protest. She might not enjoy this aspect of her training, but she really did want to learn it; she wanted to be able to defend herself in the field, to be one less person for others to worry about defending. What was the point in healing others if she couldn't keep from being the one who needed healing herself?

Bill laughed at her, then reached out and ruffled her hair. "I think we'll start on spell-work next week or the week after, depending on how soon I can get permission for you to do underage magic outside of school and how you're doing with your exercises. We'll start with the real basic stuff first until I get a feel for how much you already know—besides you never know when one of those elementary little spells might save your life—but eventually we'll get to things like the Homorphus Charm or _Protego_, and then—"Bill trailed off when he caught sight of the look on Ginny's face. "What?

She blushed, and threw an arm across her eyes as though to protect herself from embarrassment. "Ummm…I already know that one," she told him quietly, voice slightly muffled.

"You know _protego_?"

"Yeah."

"But even some of the sixth years have problems with that one. I remember how much—"

"I know Bill," she interrupted, "but Harry taught some of us back when we were part of DA, and—I don't know, it just clicked with me."

"Wow, Gin...For a witch of your age—well," he seemed impressed. "I always knew you were powerful, but... wow."

"You already said that," she pointed out helpfully.

"Cute." She could hear the grin in his voice. "All right, we cut _protego_ then and just work on the Homorphus Charm and maybe some stealth sensoring spells. I'll have to work on a list of offensive spells you should probably learn too, but for now, let's take a break, since you seem so determined to laze in the sun. The twins should be here in less than an hour anyway, and unless we want to be answering half a dozen questions about what we're doing, it's best that we—" He cut himself off again when she jolted upright, staring at him with a horrified expression. "What?"

"The twins are coming _when_?"

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Looking around, taking in the soft blues and lavenders, the pale pinks and baby yellows that decorated her entirely too vulnerable bedroom, Ginny began to curse.

This was bad.

Fred and George were supposed to arrive today. _How_ had she forgotten that Fred and George were supposed to arrive _today_? Today! And she hadn't even begun to prepare.

This was _so_ bad.

Not that she didn't love her brothers. She did, with unashamed abandon, she adored the twins; she always had. And they adored her too. And they were most aggressive protectors. Not in that look-at-her-wrong-and-I'll-tear-your-head-off sort of way that Ron possessed, but in a dangerously underestimated we-may-goof-off-and-play-the-fools-but-we're-actually-really-powerful kind of way, an of-course-we're-smart-we-don't-own-our-own-joke-shop-for-nothing-just-think-of-what-we-could-do-to-_you_ sort of way. They had protected her from everyone, family, friend, or foe from the day she was born. Problem was, there was no one to protect her from _them_.

No one messed with Fred and George's little sister. Except Fred and George.

Something made her pause in her frantic thoughts. Some sound, some kind of movement, something.

_What?_ she thought, desperately, and flung herself over her bed to the door, pressing her ear against it, listening for more telltale sounds.

And there _were_ sounds, something drifting up the stairwell from the entryway or maybe as far away as the living room, almost a murmuring…

Ginny quietly edged the door open, not enough to make the hinges squeak, but just enough to discern the sounds better. The murmuring was louder now, and she could _almost_ tell what it was.

Wiggling and contorting in all sorts of uncomfortable ways, Ginny squeezed—practically oozed—into her doorframe in an attempt to get her ear a little closer to the source of the noise. Finally, Ginny managed wrap herself around the door enough to get her head out into the hallway without opening the door any farther. Resting her chin on the floorboards—her hands being otherwise occupied supporting her position and holding the door in place to keep it from squeaking—she listened, hard.

Voices!

Like a shot, Ginny was on her feet and back inside her room, slamming the door shut behind her and leaning back against it as she caught her breath. That murmuring sound she'd heard before was definitely the sound of voices and unless she was mistaken, several of them belonged to the twins. At least four or five! Possibly ten! How did they always manage to multiply like that? It seemed like the less prepared she was to defend herself against them, the more of the twins there seemed to be.

What was she going to do? Any moment they could come up here and find her, helpless, hopeless, defenseless in her own room…

That was it! They'd come looking for her in _her_ room, so if she wasn't _in_ her room…she would be safe!

Instantly Ginny was out the door and flying down the hall towards the stairs and the promise of safety in Ron's room. She climbed them in an instant, not bothering to close doors behind her, and skidded to a stop before Ron's bedroom just as a familiar voice floated up to her from _way_ down below, "Hey, where's Ginny?"

They were hunting her! The only way she could possibly hear them from way up here is if they wanted to be heard. They must be practically shouting down there. Oh, this was bad! So, so bad!

Dancing with impatience and a growing sense of dread ("yes," said a matching—menacingly evil!—voice downstairs, "where is our darling little sister?"), Ginny knocked twice on Ron's door and barely forced herself to wait for the soft, "Come in," before throwing it open and flinging it shut behind her. She threw both locks, cursing that she was still underage and unable to add a few locking charms for good measure, then leapt away from the door with a gasp as she heard feet pounding up the stairs.

"She's not here, George," she distinctly heard Fred say loudly from the vicinity of her room, and let out an especially vulgar expletive that had someone chuckling somewhere behind her. She heard footsteps coming across the bedroom, but didn't have time to really think anything of it, because she heard George mention that they should ask Ron, and the sound of feet on the stairs, which meant they were coming here! To Ron's room! And she was turning to run for cover beneath the bed, Harry's cot, inside the wardrobe, in the shadows of a dark corner, _anything_ so long as the twins didn't get a hold of her! And even as she turned to go, there was a pounding on the door, a wiggling of the handle, a startled "It's locked! Well, that just won't do." And she only managed to take three half-running steps towards supposed safety before she was running into someone (again!) and then she was stumbling, falling, except that Harry caught her by the elbows, steadied her, helped her upright, and, looking amused, told her that this habit she was forming of throwing herself at him at every opportunity was getting rather ridiculous, really. Stunned, Ginny flushed from toe to hairline just as the twins burst through the doorway.

And came to a sudden screeching halt.

Taking in the situation rather suspiciously, Fred eyed Harry and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Here now, what do you think you're doing with our little sister, Potter?"

"Yes, what _do_ you think you're doing?" George echoed, looking them over and frowning.

"What?" Ginny screeched, turning even redder, if possible.

Harry just snickered a little and released Ginny's elbows. "I believe I was preventing her from falling on her face. Or from hiding in Ron's wardrobe, I'm not quite sure. Either way, I believe she was attempting to escape from something; she came in here in some kind of panic just a moment ago. Would either of you know why that might be?" Harry returned their suspicious looks, but looking up at him, Ginny could see the laughter in his eyes.

"Panic? Here now, Ginny-girl, what's the trouble?" George demanded.

There was a slightly deranged gleam in Fred's eye as he agreed with his brother—the one they always got when vengeful prank opportunities cropped up. "Yes, just tell your big brothers what's bothering you, Ginny-my-Ginny, and we'll take care of it straight off."

Ginny, admittedly, was rather embarrassed by this whole situation. She hated to admit weakness in front of her brothers, especially these brothers. It was all she could do to convince them all of her ability to take care of herself as it was, she didn't need them knowing that there were things she actually had trouble dealing with. Especially when two of those things happened to be her brothers themselves. But she knew Fred and George. Now that their overprotective brother hackles were up, they'd not drop the subject until they obtained the information they wanted—in this case, that she was afraid of confronting their pranks. Oh the shame of having to admit that to them! Especially when she normally dealt with them just fine. It was just the rare moments when she was unprepared, like today! Really! And—Oh! Curse the twins, both of them! In addition, this was the—the—the—she couldn't even remember how many times it had been, but she knew she'd ended up in Harry's arms far too many times in the last few days—most of them completely unintentional—and every time it did strange things to her. Like make her blush uncontrollably, or stammer, or turning her into this timid speechless lump of embarrassed Ginny, and she was never like that! She hated being like that! It just went to show that she absolutely did not fancy Harry Potter; how could she fancy someone who made her feel like something she hated?

Take that Hermione! And Charlie! And anyone else who might decide to bring the possibility up, ever, for the rest of her life!

"Ginny?"

Abruptly shaken from her thoughts, Ginny blushed again and inwardly cursed George for triggering the seemingly automatic new response. When she caught his inquiring look, she blushed harder and mumbled something unintelligible.

"What was that, love?" Fred asked.

Not quite believing she was doing this, Ginny moaned, knowing that avoiding the issue was a lost cause. She waved her hands, flustered, and opened and closed her mouth in an effort to speak. "It's the two of you!" she cried finally, and without even thinking about it, she turned quickly to Harry, gripping the sides of his shirt and hiding her face against his chest in mortification, only burrowing closer when he instinctively embraced her and took a step back to balance them. No matter how awkward she felt in his presence lately, she subconsciously knew the safest place in any room was the place where Harry stood; the closer she was to him, the safer she felt. In this moment of fearful uncertainty, her brothers watched as, for the first time they could remember, she instinctively turned to someone else for protection and support. The motion triggered matching looks of dawning understanding on the twins' faces, which almost instantly transformed into wicked, tight-lipped smiles paired with dangerously sharp-eyed gazes aimed directly at one Harry Potter. He didn't understand the reason for the sudden menace being shown him by men he had, until two seconds ago, considered good friends, but was smart enough to understand it that boded ill for him regardless, and probably had something to do with Ginny.

The brave, selfless, noble future hero of the wizarding world gulped at the promise in their eyes. Satisfied, the twins turned their dangerous looks to the back of their sister's bent head.

"Now, now, Ginny, nothing to be worried about," George reassured her, his innocent, calming voice a direct contradiction to the light of danger in his eyes. Head still bent into Harry's chest, Ginny missed the duality, and trustingly pulled her head back a little to glance at him out of the corner of her eye.

"Why not?"

"My dear sister," Fred began, voice equally deceptive as he physically removed Ginny from Harry's arms and firmly tucked her under his own, "we just came up after a little Quidditch, that's all."

"Really?" she asked, glancing suspiciously back and forth between them. "No tricks, or pranks, or anything else?"

"No tricks, we promise," George assured her, coming up on her other side. "We just want a good game, and we can't have it without our number one Seeker."

"I thought you said last time that Charlie was your number one Seeker?"

"Yes, well, Bill picked Charlie for his Seeker, which leaves us you for our number one. Isn't that spiffing?"

"Gee, thanks," she muttered. "I think I'll play Chaser."

"Wonderful!" George cried. "We were hoping you'd say that. Harry!"

"What?" Harry was still eyeing them suspiciously; the twins were sending him matching disarming grins, as if their eyes hadn't been tearing him limb from limb not five minutes ago, and it was making him nervous.

"We need you to play Seeker, old chap!" Fred told him. "No offense, love," he added, turning back to Ginny, who was scowling. "We asked you first, didn't we?"

"Out of love and loyalty, perhaps," she muttered, peeved.

"Perhaps," George agreed, "but we did ask you. Now!" He clapped his hands together, "all this hiding and scowling is just not on. We've only just arrived, and—"

"—we haven't seen you in ages!" Fred finished. "Come give us kisses, Ginny-love, and show your brothers how much you miss us when we're away!"

Never having been able to resist their charming smiles and enthusiastic demands for attention, Ginny found herself grinning despite herself and gracefully giving in as they led her out the door.

Left standing alone in the empty orange room he shared with Ron, Harry found himself thinking, with a shudder, that it might be much safer for him to just stay in for the rest of the summer. Or follow Ginny's example and hide in the wardrobe. Even the Dursleys had to be better than facing the twins again.

_Well, they can't be worse than Voldemort._

_Right?_

Sighing, the Boy-Who-Lived gathered his broom and his Quidditch gloves and headed out the door like a man to his doom.

_What did I ever do to deserve this life?_

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"Yes, Mum, I know. Be careful. Don't fly too fast. Don't get too rough with the boys, in fact, don't roughhouse period. Don't fly too high. Don't do any risky tricks or take any other unnecessary chances. Don't have any fun whatsoever, so on and so forth. I _know_, Mum. I'll be careful."

Molly ignored her daughter's griping and continued readjusting the straps on Ginny's armguards for her. "You forgot 'don't fly too close to the other players,' and 'keep both hands on the broom at all times,' dear," Molly corrected. "There," she added, flattening the last strap into place and stepping back to admire her handiwork. "That's perfect. I suppose you may go on down to join the others now. That is, if you're sure you wouldn't rather help fix lunch…?" She looked hopefully at her youngest, who blew her long fringe back out of her eyes in frustration and sighed.

"Good-bye, Mum," she replied rather pointedly instead, and hurried out the back door before her mother changed her mind. Never mind that Ginny had been secretly riding a broom since she was old enough to know what to do with one, never mind that she had aced the broom riding class in her first year or that she was currently the best Chaser on the Gryffindor house team, never mind that she should have more than proven herself on a broom by now, her mother persisted in thinking Ginny was incapable of flying without falling off every two seconds or somehow getting herself injured. And more often than not her brothers seemed to agree with her. Ginny shook her head as she made her way down to the Weasleys' makeshift pitch. She was just going to have to prove herself again, she supposed, and this game was as good an opportunity to do so as any.

As she came through the trees that hid the pitch from the sight of any accidental passersby, Ginny caught sight of several of her brothers, Charlie and Ron amongst them, holding some kind of debate near the far goal area. Charlie seemed to be protesting something Ron was saying but Ron, as always, was apparently insistent. She observed the argument curiously, but before she could work out what was going on, Charlie suddenly threw his hands into the air and stalked off, shaking his head and muttering under his breath. Ron was just opening his mouth to call after him when George caught sight of her and nudged him in the ribs. Ron elbowed him back, but grinned up at their sister and handed her a broom as she reached them.

"What was that all about?" she asked cutting off his greeting and nodding to Charlie.

"What? Oh—er, nothing. It was nothing," he muttered, turning slightly pink and averting his eyes.

Ginny's own eyes narrowed in suspicion at his evasive reaction, but before she could enquire further, he waved his arm over his head and shouted to the others: "Hey! Ginny's finally free, let's get going already!" This inspired a final mad rush for brooms and gear before everyone sat down to rehash and renegotiate family rules. By the time the game finally began, Ginny had forgotten all about her brothers' odd behavior and threw herself whole-heartedly into the game. Her team won by several points, thanks to some rather surprising goals she had made when Ron wasn't looking…surprising because Ron never let the Quaffle through anymore. If Ginny hadn't been so caught up in the celebrating of the win by way of the Fred/George/Ginny Masterful Dance of Unimpeded, Undoubted and So-Ridiculously-Expected-Why-Did-You-Bother-Playing-Against-Us Victory (Complete with lyrics, coordinated movements, and out of key melody), she would have been very suspicious indeed. As it was, she finished the MDoUUaSREWDYEBPAUV with the usual flourish and boisterous laughter, and led her brothers (and Harry) inside without a second thought. It wasn't until after lunch, when she had returned to her room to put away her Quidditch things, that she remembered what she had witnessed and what had occurred afterwards, and felt suspicion flare anew in her mind. After several moments spent creating and discarding one flawed plan after another, she finally came down to her usual failsafe: go find Charlie and wheedle the information out of him.

After much searching, high and low, she finally located her brother is his childhood room. He was sitting at the desk writing a letter when she snuck in and quietly shut the door behind her. Being careful not to disturb him, she crept silently across the floor and flopped down across his bed. Crossing her arms under her chin and her legs at the ankle, she kicked her feet back and forth and traced the quilted seams of his comforter with a finger while she waited for Charlie to finish.

"What do you want, Pest?" he asked several minutes later, affectionately using the childhood nickname he'd always used whenever he thought she was being bothersome. Pest, he had once explained, was a humorous variation of Gin-bug, his usual form of address. "Get it, Gin-bug?" he had asked, snickering. "You're a Gin-_bug_, and bugs are pests! Get it?" He had felt bad afterwards, of course, because the comparison made her cry, but he'd continued to use the name anyway.

"What were you and Ron arguing about earlier?" she asked him, still tracing the seams with her fingertip.

The scratching of his quill across the parchment paused for a moment, then picked up again. "When?"

"Before the match, when I was just coming down to the pitch."

"Nothing you ought to worry about, Gin-bug."

"It obviously concerned me; why shouldn't I worry about it?"

Charlie shot her an amused look before sprinkling sand across his parchment to absorb the excess ink. "Because every argument the rest of us have must be about you, huh, Pest?"

Ginny scowled at him. "That isn't what I meant, you great prat. I know it was about me; when George saw me coming, he stopped Ron from saying anything else. Why would he do that if it wasn't about me?"

Charlie sighed and tapped the parchment carefully to remove the sand, rolled it up, and tied it with a piece of twine. "It really doesn't matter, Gin," he said finally, and glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

"_Charlie_!" she whined, pulling herself upright.

"_Ginny_!" he said in the same tone.

"Charlie, please!" Ginny grabbed hold of her brother's arm and leaned her head against his shoulder. "Please!" she added, widening her eyes and pouting somewhat as she twisted to look up at him from her awkward vantage point.

Charlie's eyes widened in sudden comprehension. "Gin, no—"he began.

Ginny fought back a triumphant grin and hurried to interrupt him. "Charlie, I just wanna know." She widened her eyes a bit more and added a slight tremble to her bottom lip and a quaver to her voice. "Please?" She tightened her grip on his arm and snuggled further into his shoulder as she pouted up at him. The position was awkward and the whining a bit debasing, but she knew from a lifetime's experience that it was extremely effective. Especially since the wide-eyed thing tended to make her eyes water a little…just as if she were about to break into tears.

Boys will do anything to keep a girl from crying. Even if the girl is their sister.

"Ginny, come on, don't do that! Please! It's so unfair, and I just don't see what good it would do you if you were to know that Fred and George convinced Ron to throw the game for you—" he stopped as soon as he felt his sister go still against him.

"WHAT!" Ginny's reaction was immediate. She jerked upright, hands still clutching his arm as she glared at him. "They _what_?"

"Oops," Charlie muttered, closing his eyes in a slow wince. "Gin, I—"

"_How_ could they _do_ that?" Ginny leapt to her feet. Charlie opened his mouth to respond, but she kept going. "_Why_ would they do that?"

"Gin—"

She threw her hands in the air. "Do they really think me incapable of playing well without their intervention?"

"Ginny, of course they don't, but—"

"Because it's not like I've held my own against you all in every Weasley pick-up match I've ever played—"

"Gin—"

"—or made the house team on my own merit or anything."

"Gin—" Charlie tried with a sigh.

"It's not like I've played against other teams—"

"Ginny."

"—or fought off cheating Slytherins, or endured injuries and played well despite them."

"Wait, what?" Charlie looked at her sharply

"Noooo!" Ginny continued to ignore him, moving to the end of the bed so that she could pace properly. "I've never done _any _of those! So of course I can see why they felt the need to throw a game. I fully understand! Poor little Ginny, _she's_ just a _girl_. It's not _her_ fault that she can't keep up with us big, strong male types. Let's _throw_ the game for her, and make her feel _better_ about herself, since she's _clearly_ incapable of winning without us!"

"Ginny!" Charlie was getting aggravated.

"And you!" she rounded on him suddenly. "_You_ let them do it. How could you let them do it? Why didn't you tell me, or defend me or—"

"Ginny, enough!" Charlie shouted suddenly, surging out of his seat to glare down at her. Ginny quailed at the sight of him towering over her, arms crossed and eyes hard. Charlie very rarely got angry, but when he did, it was never over unimportant trifles. He had been one of the few of her parent's children to inherit their father's gentle, calm demeanor and slow anger. And he had only once been truly angry with her before.

"I'm sorry, Charlie," she whispered.

Her brother sighed, and with the exhalation all the tension left his body, though his face was still guarded. "I understand your anger, Pest; I'd be angry too. But I don't deserve to bear the brunt of it. I'm the brother who let you hammer the nails in the tree house, remember?"

"I remember," she replied. When they'd built the tree house in the backyard, her brothers had refused to let her help, or handle the dangerous tools, out of fear that she might injure herself. But Charlie had snuck her up with him, and set her to hammering nails into one of the floorboards under his careful supervision. He had also stubbornly defended his decision to Bill, Percy, Fred and George, and even to her father when he had expressed his doubts. He had then spent hours after she got bored finishing the task and making sure none of her crooked nails would present a danger to anyone else. As a result, there was one very sturdy, but hideously constructed, floorboard in the tree house, and Charlie was permanently elevated to second-favorite-brother status. Not because of the floorboard incident, per say, but because he was the brother who best understood her need for adventure and independence, and the one who created opportunities for her to do the things inspired by these tendencies instead of preventing her from doing them.

Something in her face must have alerted him to what she was thinking, because his expression softened. "That was a good day."

She smiled up at him. "The best."

"For now," he murmured, and the piercing look he gave her then was almost frightening. It was as though he knew something was coming that would change her mind about that, and it made him sad. The look frightened her, because she didn't want to know what he could possibly foresee in her future that could so easily knock him from his esteemed place in her regard; that she could possibly do something in her life to sadden him so. Feeling as unsettled by her own thoughts now as she had been by his look, she sought to ground herself in the familiar feel of a Charlie hug, and promptly flung her arms around him.

"I'm sorry, Charlie," she repeated against his shoulder.

"It's alright, Pest," he said, hugging her back, tightly but briefly, before pushing her out to arms' length. "And just so you know, I don't think they did it to be mean, or because they don't think you're perfectly capable of doing well on your own, they did it because they had already upset you once today, and they wanted the game to cheer you up…but you got put on the team opposing Ron, and you always complain about having to try to score against him in practice, and how impossible it is so…they just wanted you to have a good time. If they'd been smart about it, they just would have made sure you and Ron were on the same team…but then again, I don't suppose that's very fair to the rest of us, especially since they had Harry for Seeker."

"You're just as good, Charlie," Ginny told him loyally, even though she knew it probably wasn't true—she had never seen him play in any official match, but she had been told that Charlie had been an amazing Seeker. But Harry, these same informants told her, was on a whole different level.

Charlie smiled at her as though he knew she was lying. "Thanks for saying so, Gin-bug, but it wouldn't be true even if I weren't several years out of the kind of practice Harry gets regularly. _I _wasn't the youngest Seeker in a century."

Ginny gave him a hard look. "You may not be as good, but you're still being overly modest, brother-mine."

He smiled at her. "That's not the point. The point is that no matter how skewed their reasoning was, their hearts were in the right places. So try not to be too hard on them, okay?"

She grumbled to herself a moment before sighing and shaking her head slightly. "Okay. I won't murder them out of hand, and I'll try really hard not to jinx them on sight."

"Or…"

"Or use my Bat Bogey Hex on them."

"And?"

Ginny growled, and rolled her eyes. "_And_…I won't tell Dad or Bill or Harry about this," she added, mentally sighing at the loss of that supremely appealing option. It had been her best hope for quick and easy retribution, as any of the three would make Fred, George and Ron regret ever even _thinking_ about treating her as an inferior. Mr. Weasley would have made them sit down and have "the chat" about showing respect for their sister, in this case by not making her feel inadequate or inferior. Bill would have beat them up for upsetting her, and Harry…well, no one liked to have Harry mad at them. There was just something about him when he was seriously angry. Ginny sighed in regret, this time out loud. Really, it would have made life so easy…

Charlie laughed and pulled her in for another brief hug. "That's my girl," he told her, then he slung an arm around her shoulders and mussed her hair affectionately ("Charlie!" she squealed, slapping his hand away). "Now go away and let me finish writing."

"Charlie," she protested, clinging to his arm, "how can you want to be rid of me already? I haven't seen you in ages and you're trying to kick me out?"

Charlie rolled his eyes at her dramatics and guided her firmly toward the door. "Seriously Gin, you have to go. I've a whole stack of letters to send off today, and—" he cut himself off to pry her arms from his neck as he opened the door for her, grasping both her wrists in one hand above her head to manage the feat without allowing her to cling on to him again. "—and if you want to come with me to the Preserve next week, you'll have to let me write the letter to my boss. Otherwise, I'll be going without you."

"Okay, Charlie," she called out, instantly cooperative. She stopped struggling and stepped out the door of her own free will, then turned and hugged him briefly before skipping off down the hall. "Write pretty," she called over her shoulder, and clattered down the stairs. She hit the first floor at a trot, and skipped her way through the living room and kitchen, out the back door, and down the lane toward the lake. She was headed for the tree house, memories fresh in her mind, when she caught sight of Ron and Hermione sitting by the lakeshore. She jerked to a stop and whirled to face them. "You!" she cried, pointing a finger accusingly at her brother. Both heads jerked around at the sound of her voice, and Ron's eyes widened dramatically upon seeing her finger pointed straight at him.

"What'd I do?" he asked, sounding panicked as he stumbled to his feet.

"_You_ threw the game!" she accused, stomping her way through the grass toward him. "_You_," she shoved her finger into his chest, "_purposely_ let me make those shots! You _cheated_!" She crossed her arms.

"Oh, Ron, you didn't!" Hermione looked scandalized.

Ron spread his hands, "Gin, I'm—I'm sorry!"

She glared at him as he spent the next several moments opening and closing his mouth, searching for words. Then she remembered her conversation with Charlie, and saw the remorse in his eyes, and relented. She dropped her arms and sighed. "It's fine, Ron." She waved her hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it."

"Really?" His look was incredulous.

"Really. But _don't_ do it again," she added, giving him a hard look.

"No!" he agreed, shaking his head so violently, she was afraid he was going damage himself. She snickered when his balance wavered, and opened her mouth to speak when a voice behind her stopped her in her tracks.

"Hey, Ron, Hermione, Ginny," Harry called, coming across the grass.

Ginny felt heat creep into her cheeks at the sound of his voice, but forced herself to relax and calm down before he reached them. Hermione shot her an amused glance that she pretended not to see, but Ron was too busy throwing panicked glances back and forth between his sister and his best friend to notice anything. Harry had always been more perceptive than Ron though—and if her brother didn't stop acting oddly, Harry was going to realize something was up. She really didn't want to get Ron in trouble with Harry, not to mention breaking her promise to Charlie, so she had no intention of telling Harry about the game—but she had never been very good at lying to him, and if Harry asked why Ron was behaving oddly, somehow, she just knew the whole story was going to come out. She was just about to tell Ron to knock it off when Harry reached them.

Grinning, the tall brunette slid an arm around Ginny's shoulders and asked, "Who's up for a game of Exploding Snap?"

Ginny's brain promptly shut down. Harry Potter, of his own volition, had just put his arm around her as if it were something he did every day. And not loosely either; he didn't have his arm casually slung around her, the wrist resting lightly against the shoulder, arm barely making contact with the back, the hand hanging limp over the arm in the manner that boys often adopted when they used such gestures. No, he had wrapped his hand around the joint of her shoulder and tugged her in fully against his side so that his arm was flush with her back and she could feel acutely every shift in his muscles everywhere they touched, every time they moved. She could feel the heat of his body seeping through the side of her shirt, and from this close, she could smell the subtle scent of his soap and shampoo as well. She could feel a slow, burning heat creeping up her neck and face and burning across her cheeks as a result. There was a deafening rush in her ears behind the magnified sound of her beating heart, and she felt warm and somewhat lightheaded too. She was sure she would have swayed on her feet if Harry's arm hadn't been (unbeknownst to him) anchoring her in place. The close contact had caught her completely off guard, and it was all she could do to stand still and endure it. She hoped, somewhere deep inside herself where some small portion of her brain was beginning to process again, that if she stood perfectly still, then she might not notice the contact so much, and the situation couldn't get any worse. How could it? But he was warm and he smelled good, and he was practically embracing her! and she quickly became too afraid to even breathe properly for fear of touching him more than necessary and sparking further reaction.

Needless to say, any thought she had had about heading off Ron's little guilt complex was gone the moment Harry touched her. In fact, she was so distracted by the situation that she almost missed the smug little smile Hermione was shooting her from her place at Ron's side. Almost.

Ginny relaxed somewhat as Hermione's expression distracted her, and she was just working up to a really good glare when she realized that she was breathing normally, causing her shoulder to brush against Harry's side…Her blush renewed with a vengeance and she dropped her arms to her side in an attempt to gain some space. It didn't really work the way she'd hoped, but at least she wasn't pressed against the boy as tightly as she had been.

Harry was oblivious to all this, apparently, because he glanced around between his friends, and focused his attention on Ron. He frowned. Ron's eyes widened even further at this, and he threw another panicked glance at Ginny. Harry followed his gaze to the girl at his side (_please don't notice anything, please don't notice anything_) then threw a questioning glance at their female best friend. "What's going on?"

Hermione, still looking amused, shook her head. "Don't look at me, Harry. This is between the two of them."

Harry looked back and forth between them, and apparently misinterpreted the cause of her blush as the Weasley fury. "Ron," he said firmly, settling a suspicious gaze on the taller redhead, "what did you do?"

Ginny breathed a sigh of relief. If Harry misunderstood the reason for her blush, then he wouldn't ask any awkward questions she was still fooling herself enough to be unable to answer. Then Ron opened his mouth and the reason for this little confrontation came flooding back to her.

_Please, Ron_, she willed her brother silently, _just don't say anything about the game!_

"Er, I…uh," Ron said. "Well, I might possibly have thrown—"

_So much for that_. "Harry," Ginny cut in suddenly, desperate to prevent Ron from getting himself into trouble with his best friend over something she had already forgiven him for, "want to come down to the tree house with me?"

Harry blinked and looked down at her. "What?"

"I said, do you want to come down to the tree house with me?"

"The tree house?"

"Yes. I was just on my way down there when I got distracted, and I thought you might like to see it, since you haven't…" Ginny trailed off when she noticed that everyone was staring at her. She flushed when she realized what, exactly, she had just asked.

_Good going Ginny! You manage to avoid Harry's suspicion only to make it completely obvious by asking him to come with you. Alone!_ What "it" was that she was making so obvious, she didn't know, but obvious it would be nevertheless. She caught the smug look spreading over Hermione's face and inwardly groaned. _See!_

"All right."

"What?" Ginny looked at him, startled.

"All right, I'll come with you to the tree house."

"Really?" Disbelief colored her tone.

"Did you not want me to?"

"No! I mean yes! I mean—" Ginny closed her eyes and took a deep breath to calm herself. When she opened them again, her breath caught in her throat as her eyes locked with a pair of bright green eyes framed by thick black hair way too close for comfort. Harry was just inches away, leaning around slightly to peer down at her. When his gaze caught hers (_mercy, that's completely unfair_), he raised both eyebrows in question, a warm amusement in his eyes she was almost too distracted to notice.

"You mean what, Ginny?" he asked, voice low, and she shivered slightly.

"Um. Ummm—" There was a smile playing about his lips now, which pulled her gaze momentarily from his eyes, and _that_ flustered her even more. She jerked her gaze back to his, then slammed her eyes closed again for fear she'd give…something…away. If she didn't die of asphyxiation first. The simple act of breathing had never been so hard. "I mean," she said softly, when she had recovered a bit, "that I want you to come to the tree house with me." She took a deep breath, hardly believing what she had said, what she was _saying_, but…she'd already opened herself up to a world of embarrassment here, if she could gain some time with Harry in the mix, well...they _were_ friends after all. She mentally braced herself and opened her eyes to meet his. "There's a swing," she told him bravely, "and I've hardly seen you since you've been here. Ron and Hermione have been monopolizing you; it's my turn."

He stared at her for one, long, agonizing moment, and then that slow, blinding smile spread across his face—the one he reserved for people he liked and truly happy moments.

"Well then," he said, "it would be rude of me to refuse, wouldn't it?"

"Very," she agreed, and was surprised at how cool and firm her voice sounded, when inside she was panicking.

Harry moved away and folded into a gallant bow. "After you," he said gesturing in the direction of the path she'd been following earlier.

"Why, thank you," she replied, surprised to find herself snickering at his behavior despite her lingering embarrassment, and even more surprised to find herself participating by thrusting her nose into the air in a parody of a noble lady and sauntering past him. He laughed and hurried to catch up, talking animatedly as they walked side by side away down the path.

"Well that was weird," said Ron, staring after them.

Hermione stared at him in disbelief, then rolled her eyes. "You're hopeless, Ronald," she told him, her tone disgusted, and headed back toward the house.

Ron looked confused for a long moment, gazing after her. "What did I do?"

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Well, that's it for this chapter. I've got the next one started already (as it was originally supposed to be the second half of this one before this half ran away with me and became huge), and it's all planned out, but I'm not making any promises about when it will be out. It seems every time I do that, it takes forever to finish the next chapter. Maybe this time, by not setting a date, I'll finish it quickly. Sigh. Leave me a review and tell me what you think!


	5. Protective Perseverance

Antithesis

Disclaimer: I don't own anything even remotely related to Harry Potter, except a little bit of merchandise.

**Chapter Five: Protective Perseverance**

"Gin-olly!" an all-too-cheerful voice called out as Ginny came in the Burrow's back door. She had the door only halfway open when a second, identical, voice rang out with, "Olly-Gin!" Ginny paused in the doorway and winced at the greeting.

"Ginny?" came a third, quieter voice at her shoulder.

She shot a sheepish glance at the be-spectacled boy behind her. "They like to find strange ways to combine my first and middle names sometimes. Please don't ask me why."

"Ask you to explain the twins?" Harry's tone was amused, but she avoided looking at him for fear she would start blushing again. Despite her best efforts, and all the time they'd been spending together lately, mostly in the company of Ron and Hermione, she continued to blush rather easily around him. It was really beginning to irritate her.

"Right." Ginny took a deep breath and finished pushing the door open.

"Mo-nevra-ly! We know it's you!" called one twin from the living room. Ginny decided to ignore them.

"Yes," agreed the other as Ginny removed her sunhat and hung it on a hook on the wall of the mudroom. "Hermione and Ron came back ages ago, so it has to be you." Ginny began checking the soles of her shoes for loose dirt and mud. Nope, nothing on the right shoe. She picked up her left.

"Although," the first twin (she was pretty sure it was Fred) continued for his brother, "we've noticed that young Harry is missing as well." Ginny continued staring at the sole of her left foot, but it was as clean as the right, unfortunately. She'd really been hoping for an excuse to avoid whatever the twins were on about for a little longer.

"Yes, interesting that," George said. "He and Ron went out to look for Hermione, but he wasn't with them when they came in a bit ago."

Ginny's head came up and she dropped her foot to the floor with a horrified thud. "Oh no."

"Ginny?" Harry asked again, concerned this time. He had long ago finished examining his own shoes.

"Oh no," Ginny repeated. Her brothers were using _the tone_.

"So we were wondering," Fred finished, "any chance he's with you?"

Ginny cursed, quietly and very quickly. They were using that too-casual tone they only used when they were planning something—something big—and they were trying to lure their prey into their tangled little web. She didn't know why her brothers cared that she and Harry had come in after the other two, but she really didn't want to deal with their whatever it was they were up to—although the reason for her tardiness _was_ perfectly innocent…if by innocent you meant deviously trying to play matchmaker for a shy bookworm and her stupidly oblivious love interest. Ron and Hermione had been having one of those eye conversations again, so she and Harry had sneaked off to give them a chance to be alone together for a while. Since the house wasn't ringing with her mother's happy exclamations and the good-natured ragging of her other brothers, Ginny assumed they still hadn't gotten the hint…dumb boy. Ginny was certain that if Ron would just get his act together and tell the girl, Hermione would happily reciprocate. As it was, Hermione thought she was beneath Ron's notice. She thought she was plain! But Hermione simply lacked self-confidence; she was fully aware of her feelings even if she wouldn't admit them. Ron, on the other hand…Ron was oblivious. And dumb. Especially since it was apparently the cause of the twins' current bout of plotting, regardless of the fact that she still couldn't fathom why they cared. She paced back and forth across the mudroom once, briefly considered making a run for it out the back door, then stopped and glared into the kitchen.

"I will not be afraid to come into my own house," she murmured determinedly. "They cannot make me afraid."

"Gin?" Harry asked softly. "Why are the twins stalking us?"

"I thought you weren't going to make me explain the twins!" she hissed desperately.

"That was before they started stalking us!" he hissed back.

"Ginny!" came the call from the living room. "Quit dawdling and bring your little friend in here."

"What do we do?" she asked frantically.

"I don't know! Can we make it back outside?"

She shook her head. "Too late, they heard the door, they know someone's come in." Suddenly Ginny whirled around and grabbed one of Harry's hands. "Listen, they're my brothers so I stand a better chance than you do. I can distract them while you make a run for it."

"I can't leave you alone with them!"

"There's no sense in sacrificing both of us! At least one of us should be allowed to survive."

"Then let me be the one to face them!"

"No Harry, you have to live so that you can destroy Voldemort!"

"But—"

Ginny shook her head. "Sacrifices must be made for the greater good," she told him soberly. "You can't save the world if the twins get you first. This is something I have to do."

"Okay," he told her reluctantly.

"Ginny!" called the twins, sounding truly impatient now. She winced.

Harry squeezed her hand. "Good luck," he whispered

She squeezed back and released his hand. "Go!"

Harry took a step back, then spun on his heel and bolted out the door. Ginny watched him go, then squared her shoulders and headed for the living room.

She stopped short just inside the door.

The twins had rearranged the whole room. Every single piece of the cozy, soft, cushy furniture that had filled her living room since before she was born was gone. In their place, the twins had transfigured a table, two large leather armchairs of an intimidating nature (which they were occupying, sitting up straight as they never had in school with both hands folded on the table-top), and two small hard wooden chairs, which sat empty across the table from them.

"Do Mum and Dad know about this?" she asked, gesturing to the room at large.

Fred fixed her with a thin-lipped smile. "Dad's at work and Mum's gone to run a quick Order errand. What they don't know won't hurt them." Ginny inwardly cursed—who in their right minds would ever think the twins should be allowed to practice unsupervised magic? Why hadn't the Ministry taken steps to prevent this…this…well, there wasn't a word in existence that could accurately portray the horror of it, but nevertheless, who would allow it?

"Have a seat, Gin-bug," George told her quietly, gesturing to one of the wooden chairs. She really didn't want to. The wooden chairs were much smaller than the big leather ones; the twins would tower over her if she sat in one—somehow she thought that might be the point. Nevertheless, she slowly crossed the room and sat down.

Fred leaned forward on his elbows until he was looking down at her. "Where is your friend, Ginny?" he asked, an eerie tone to his voice that matched the manic gleams in both their eyes.

Bravely, Ginny lifted her chin. "I came alone," she lied.

"Hm," said George, speaking just as strangely as his brother. "We'll see about that. In the meantime, why don't you tell us about what you did today?"

Ginny gulped. "What I did today?"

"Yes, Ginny," Fred told her softly. "Start with 'I went out to take a walk with Hermione,' and continue on until you finish all the interesting bits."

Ginny started to protest, "What interes—"

"Ah!" George interrupted, holding up one finger to forestall further comment. "I went out to take a walk with Hermione…" he prompted.

Ginny sighed and adopted a mutinous look, but complied. Something about the looks on their faces made her nervous…

"I went out to take a walk with Hermione," she began.

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"Look!" Ginny told the twins hotly sometime later, "we've already been over this three times. I am not doing it a fourth!"

"Ginny—" George began, but Ginny leapt to her feet.

"No!" she shouted. "No more! We are done here! I am leaving!"

"Gin," Fred sighed.

"Leaving!" she shouted again, and marched out the door. She stomped up the stairs and stormed into her bedroom, startling Hermione rather badly. Ginny didn't even notice her, just slammed the door behind her and collapsed onto her bed face first, muttering continuously into her duvet.

Hermione, who'd looked up from the book she'd been reading and promptly frozen at the look on the redhead's face, now set her book down and cautiously scooted across her cot until she sprawled half across her bed and half across Ginny's. She wiggled until she was comfortable and reached out to brush the hair away from the near side of Ginny's face so she could see her better. Not that there was much to see with her face squashed into the bed like that. "Harry told me the twins ambushed you on the way in," she said in a quiet voice.

Ginny growled and explicated more muffled words into her mattress.

Hermione sighed. "I don't suppose I want to know what you're saying, do I?" she said, mostly to herself. Then, in a voice Ginny could actually hear, she continued, "Was it really so bad?"

There was a long, silent pause. Finally, Ginny let out an explosive breath and relaxed her shoulders. "I think I might hate them," she growled, voice still muffled, but understandable.

Hermione blinked. "You love your brothers," she asserted confidently.

"I think I might _hex_ them," Ginny told her emphatically, tilting her head to view her friend through narrowed eyes.

"Okay." Hermione studied her expression for a long moment, then nodded once as she came to a decision. "Okay," she repeated. "I'm going to leave the room now. I shall leave the room and walk very far away from the door. That way, any horrible, disparaging, possibly foul things that may be said in this room in the next hour or so will not be heard by me. As things I do not hear may be assumed never to have been said, no one remaining in this room will feel any need for guilt for having said them."

Ginny stared for a second or two, then snatched Hermione's hand up and hugged it. "I think you might be my best friend in the whole world, Hermione."

"Luna Lovegood is your best friend," Hermione told her.

"I can have more than one," Ginny replied. She released Hermione's hand and the brunette promptly stood up and went to the door.

"Give me two minutes to get to the end of the hall," she said. Ginny nodded, and Hermione slipped out the door, shutting it quietly behind her.

Ginny loved Hermione dearly and didn't want to offend her, despite her own anger and her impatience to vent it, so she waited very patiently for Hermione to get out of earshot before she began soundly swearing at her absent identical brothers.

Now Ginny was not particularly proud of her cursing prowess since it was something she tried not to use terribly often, but she _did_ have six brothers, all of whom tended towards dirty language (some more than others) and several of whom had left home for various career fields—which had exposed them to all sorts of new places, people, and in some cases, countries, where they had picked up an assortment of new words and phrases to carry home on holidays. Her brothers, being male, had this thing about competition, and the result was a long string of verbal attempts to one-up each other in increasingly vulgar language that peppered Ginny's memory from a very young age.

Ginny was a smart girl; she had a wickedly creative mind, and, thanks to her brothers, an endless source of new vocabulary. They tried to be properly ashamed for their part in her education (as her mother blamed them, of course, for teaching her baby to "cuss like a sailor"), but…well, she could curse fluently in three and a half languages and strip a man down in two minutes flat with what they'd taught her—which was just good self defense, they figured. Mostly they were proud of her.

So when her two minutes were up and Ginny started swearing, she did it competently, thoroughly, and utterly ruthlessly.

She cursed everything she could think of, starting with the twins' recent actions and moving on from there to past infractions (of which there were many), personality faults (of which there were many whenever Ginny was angry), looks (not bad, but honestly, a good round of insults must include disparaging remarks about looks—and parentage, but she wasn't about to touch that one since they were, after all, her brothers, and very definitely shared the same parentage that she did) and finally, the day they were born. When she was done, twenty minutes had passed, and she felt a little better. So, since she had the time, she spent another twenty minutes cursing all the things that had been frustrating her lately: Voldemort, her inability to join the Order, Percy's superiority complex, her mother's tendency to hover, the exercise program Bill had forced on her, and this stupid thing with Harry (though she was very careful not to curse Harry _himself_). When she was done she felt a lot better…and just slightly guilty. She really did try not to swear, but when she was angry it was just so hard!

Ginny then spent some time just lying on her bed, fiddling with the ruffled edge of a pillow while she thought about life. She decided that, under the circumstances, things really weren't too bad. Sure Voldemort was a murderous dictator wannabe with a huge Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder and the world was going to pot, but she had a family who loved her (even if Percy was a right pompous git) and great friends—she was happy. And her mum was wonderful, even if she did hover. After all, what would her life have been like without her mum's voice, her warm hugs, the cooking she put all her heart into every day to show her love for her family? Mums were wonderful things. Then Ginny had a thought.

Maybe Voldemort just needed a mum.

Ginny snickered at the idea, and of the mental image that accompanied it of her eleven year old self waving a finger in Voldemort's snaky face and shouting at him that he needed a mum very very badly just before Harry locked him in a room with his new adoptive mother to the sound of Voldemort's terrified screams and the flash and bang of celebratory fireworks. It was such an odd image, especially since Voldemort hadn't looked like that when she was eleven, and it was the nearly sixteen-year-old Harry that was locking him away, that she suddenly found herself laughing until tears came to her eyes and she had to go looking for one of the linen hankies her mother had embroidered for her to wipe them away. Just about the time she was done calming down, although the occasional chuckle still slipped out as she refolded her handkerchief and ran her fingers through her tangled hair, she came to the realization that her Stealth Sensoring Spells were sounding.

Now she and Bill had actually cast several variations of the defensive spell around her door and window, and the hall outside her bedroom, but they had done it for educational purposes—the best way to learn a spell, Bill had told her, was to actually cast it. That was why he'd gone to their father and asked him to request permission from the Ministry for Ginny to do out of school magic. Ministry policy on underage magic stated that under special circumstances, underage witches and wizards may be allowed, under the strict supervision of their family or a certified educator, to study magic outside of school. Since the Ministry was still in a bit of a panic over the invasion of the Department of Mysteries that spring, it had been easy to get them to agree to allow Ginny to study magic under her brother's careful eye for the purpose of defending herself in future. As soon as her certificate of approval had come in, Bill had started her learning a variety of defensive wards ("one of the best ways to stay safe is to be in a well protected environment") and alarm-sounding charms ("forewarned is forearmed"). Thus, a long afternoon of walking around in circles in her bedroom, casting and recasting Stealth Sensoring Spells, as well as a slough of others, until she could do them to her brother's satisfaction—that is, until she could do them in her sleep. They had never removed the charms because why bother? But they had certainly never expected them to come to any use either. So when she noticed they were going off, she had a frozen moment of shock that there were actually people trying to sneak into her room.

Before she really had time to wonder about it, though, instincts still in the process of being trained by Bill kicked in suddenly, and she dove for her wand, snatching it off her bedside table and whirling to face the door just in time to cast a lightening fast defensive charm to block the spells already whizzing her way. There was a flash of arcing light and a cloud of smoke as the spells collided with her shields and rebounded, followed quickly by a couple of thuds and some gasping startled sounds, then nothing. Ginny was fairly sure there was no longer any danger from the culprit, or culprits, who had attacked her, but she kept her wand up in a defensive position while she waited for the smoke to dissipate, just in case. While she waited, she felt anger blossom somewhere in the vicinity of her stomach and clench. Hard. She had some nasty suspicions about who she might find on the other side of that smoke, and if her suspicions were correct, there was going to be some serious retribution happening here.

But when the air had cleared, it revealed…two people she'd never seen before. They were extremely tall, upwards of six feet, with dull blond hair, dishwater blue eyes, and pasty skin. They were also exceptionally skinny. She could see individual bones in their wrists, hands and ankles, revealed by their too-short pants and their lack of socks, and she was positive that if they weren't wearing shirts, she'd be able to see shadows between their ribs. It took her two whole minutes of staring to realize…that she did know them after all. Although no one could blame her for not recognizing them; the fact that they wore the identical faces of Fred and George was the only remaining clue to their true identities.

That and the fact that there were two of them, and this had been an attack of purely Fred-and-George proportions.

Ginny was so shocked to realize that the two strange men in her room were really her brothers that at first she forgot to be angry that they had tried to attack her. Instead, she was trying to figure out why, exactly, they looked so strange. She watched them straighten themselves out and help each other up as she tried to puzzle it out, but whatever spell they had tried had had some very strange side effects, and try as she might, Ginny just couldn't understand its original purpose. Although she did find said side effects rather amusing. Finally, she simply asked them.

"Why are the two of you blond? And tall? And…thin?" Ginny snickered a little bit.

"Oh don't be kind, Gin. You can say it. We're scrawny," George told her, examining himself delightedly.

"Well, yes. Okay, but—" Ginny began

"Skinny beyond all healthy explanation," Fred interrupted enthusiastically. "It's disgusting really."

"Sick-making even."

"Exactly what we were going for!" The two shared a wicked grin.

"We are geniuses," said Fred.

"Exceptionally talented, if I do say so myself," George agreed.

"Yes. Except that we are tall, blond and skinny."

"Yes," George looked down at himself, "that was unplanned."

"Umm, hello?" Ginny cut in, frustrated, and more than a little suspicious of their motives. "That was exactly my point. _Why_ are you tall, blond and skinny?"

"Because you blocked our spells, I'd imagine," said George, looking at her as though she were stupid for asking, because, of course, she'd been the one to block the spells.

_That's right, they attacked me_. Ginny growled at the reminder. "Yes, I know." She took a deep breath to keep control of her temper and tried again. "Why did your spell make you tall, blond and skinny?

"And male."

"And male?"

"Yes. If _you _had been hit by our spell, you'd have been tall, blond, skinny, and male."

"Male."

"Yeah, but, you know, we're male, so you can't really tell that part."

"Wait, your spell was _supposed_ to make me male?"

"And tall, blond and skinny."

She stared at them a moment, trying to process exactly what had just happened, but all that was getting through was the fact that they had done it on purpose. On purpose! It wasn't some strange side effect, like she'd thought at first; they had purposely tried to turn her into a tall, blond, skinny boy! A boy! She was furious. "I _knew_ it!" she yelled. "I _knew_ you couldn't go without pranking me! You're always pulling some kind of stunt like this, and I just knew this time I would be your target. 'Oh don't worry Ginny, we're only after Quidditch,' you said. But really you were just trying to lure me into a false sense of security! I _knew_ you couldn't resist! It serves you both right, to suffer what you would have imposed on me!"

"Well, yeah, that's probably true," said George.

"Yes. But it does mean we're back to the drawing board. After all, we can't let this little matter go undealt with," said Fred with a frown.

"That's true," George murmured with a frown and a quick glance at Ginny.

"Okay, what is going on here? This is a very strange prank, even for the two of you. You're up to something more devious than usual, and since it obviously involves me in some way, and the possibility of future pranks, I demand to know what it is!"

"No worries Gin," Fred assured her, "we're done pranking you."

"We are?" George asked, shooting his brother a surprised look.

"Oh, yes."

"But—"

"We will handle this matter," Fred cut George off pointedly, "by focusing on someone else entirely." Fred turned back to Ginny. "So _you _have nothing more to worry about from us." He smiled tightly, and Ginny suddenly became aware of a very dangerous gleam in his eye.

"Right," George added, clapping his hands together decisively. "We promise, Gin-bug, you are entirely safe for the duration of our stay."

"But after that, well—"

"we can't make any promises, you understand. We need new test subjects and all that." George shot her a wicked grin.

"Yes, and good help is _so_ hard to find."

"Isn't it though?"

"And what else is family for after all?"

"Exactly!" George rubbed his hands together in anticipation. "Speaking of new test subjects, Fred…"

"Yes," Fred murmured, the danger back in his expression, "speaking of…"

George pulled Ginny into a playful hug. "We'll see you later, Gin-bug. Things to do, you know, places to go—"

"—people to torture horribly," Fred finished with a satisfied smile, following his brother out the door.

Ginny trailed after them, bewildered. "What?"

"Give our love to Mum and Dad and the rest of the family if we don't make it down in time for dinner, would you Gin? There's a love."

"Hold it right there!" she cried, fed up. She pointed her wand at their backs, beyond caring about the dressing down she was sure to get from Bill for abusing her exemption from the rules against underage magic if she hexed them. "I mean it," she growled when they kept right on walking. Both boys froze.

"She's got her wand pointed at us, doesn't she?" asked Fred.

George chanced a glance over their shoulders. "'Fraid so, mate."

Fred shook his head sadly, turning around. "To think the day would come when our own family would point a wand at us in violence."

"And our baby sister at that."

"What _is_ this world coming to?"

Ginny's wand didn't waver. "I want to know what's going on here, and I want to know now."

"Well, Gin, I'd thought that was fairly obvious. We tried to pull a prank on you, and we failed—"

"—so now we're shifting our attention to someone else."

"Can we go now?"

"Why?"

"So we can prank someone else, we told you already."

"Or did you mean why are we pranking someone else? Because if it bothers you that much, we could try pranking you again."

"Yes, if you're jealous, Gin-bug, all you had to do was say so."

"I meant," she hissed angrily, "why did you try to prank _me_? _WHY_!" she cried finally, throwing her free arm out in exasperation.

"Oh. Right. That." They exchanged uncomfortable looks.

Ginny's eyes narrowed instantly in suspicion. She _knew_ they were up to something! "I'm waiting," she told them quietly, finally lowering her wand and crossing her arms over her chest.

"Well, see Gin, it's like this…" George trailed off and looked helplessly at his brother.

"There are people in this house, people of the male persuasion, who are not related to you," Fred stated diplomatically.

"Right," said George.

"And these people may or may not be attracted to you," Fred continued.

"Right," George agreed helpfully, his expression going just a little feral.

"So we just thought we'd take care of the problem," finished Fred.

"Right," said George, and there was a strange satisfaction in his eyes.

"Let me get this straight. On the off chance that one of the numerous unrelated males who come in and out of this house due to family friendships or Order related business _may_ have an interest in me—which is highly unlikely, by the way, as most of the men who come through here are twice my age, complete strangers, practically family or a combination of the three—you tried to turn me into a tall, blond, skinny boy."

"Er, yes," said George.

"That sounds about right," added Fred.

"You must be joking."

"Er…no."

"You're _mad_, both of you. Completely gone 'round the bend," she whispered in horrified awe.

"We are not! We have a relatively attractive," Ginny spluttered at this, but George plowed on, "baby sister. It's only right for us to feel protective."

"Protective?" Ginny finally spat. "You're disturbed!"

"We are not! We're not the one wandering around with some sort of Oedipus complex. That's disturbed," George told her, looking all dangerous and hoveringly protective again. A glance at Fred revealed an identical glowering expression.

Ginny frowned in bewilderment. "Oedipus Complex? Who—" Ginny froze, a flash of memory recalling a picture in an album of a lovely redheaded woman laughing in the arms of a tall, gangly man with hazel eyes and round, wire-rimmed specs. Lily and James Potter. Lily, Harry's redheaded mother.

"Harry!" she screeched. "You, you think he…! And, and…me! Because…_my hair?_" she spluttered and fell silent, thinking furiously. They thought…! And they had tried to…! How long were the effects of this spell supposed to last? How long would she have…? And what if someone else asked them why they looked like this? What, she thought horrified, if they told the truth? That they thought Harry…and she…!

"It makes perfect sense after all," Fred was telling her. "We figure, if you're the very opposite of what he's obsessed with—"

"—the very opposite of yourself, that is," George interjected.

"—then he'll quit _looking_ at you like that!" Fred finished on a snarl.

"Harry doesn't look at me at all!" Ginny cried, flinging her arms out with the passion of her response. She waved them about a bit more as she continued, utter fury lacing each trembling, shaking word, her whole body practically vibrating with the force of her anger. "He and I are just…You honestly think that…You think—Harry! But—did you miss the practically family part? No!" she held up a hand when they would have spoken, furious tears now pricking at her eyes. She blinked them back. "No! No, no, no, no, no! I'm leaving." She turned and stalked off down the hall, ignoring their entreaties as they followed after her. When she reached the top of the stairs, she whirled on them, wand once again raised to the level of their noses. "I'm leaving!" she reiterated. "But we are going to have a good long talk about this when I am in a less murderous rage."

"Look on the bright side, Gin!" George called after her. "At least it didn't work!"

Ginny let out a scream of rage and tore down the stairs before she could really have a chance to reconsider going up their and hexing all their manly bits off. Just to see how _they_ liked the idea of changing sexes.

"I hate boys!" Ginny yelled as she stomped down the stairs. Her only reply was the sound of wicked laughter, and she shot a glare at the half wall at the top of the stairs that hid her brothers from her sight. "Aaaaargh!" She screamed in fury, taking the last of the stairs at a run and stomping into the living room. "I hate boys! I hate them I hate them I hate them!"

"Ginny?"

Ginny turned around to see Hermione, looking up at her in concern from her place between her two best friends on the Weasley's couch.

Her two best friends who happened to be male.

Ginny pointed her finger back and forth between them. " You-and you…you…you." Finally her finger settled on Ron, and with an inarticulate shriek, she launched herself at him.

"Woah!" he cried, leaping from his seat just in time to avoid her and send her crashing down into the cushions where he'd been sitting.

Hearing her growl of frustration as she tried to straighten herself out and get up at the same time to come after him again, Ron quickly reached out and grabbed Harry's arm.

"We'll just come back later, when she's not so, so…"

"Irate?" Harry offered.

"Yeah," agreed Ron, that. And the two boys darted out the door.

"Gin?" Hermione patted the girl's hair soothingly, ducking her head down to see under the mass of red that seemed to be everywhere, including obscuring her face.

Ginny grunted in reply.

"Gin, what's wrong, why are you so upset?"

"You're fraternizing with the enemy!"

"Okay, but that's not what this is really about. I thought you were venting your frustrations to an empty room in order to calm down. What's happened that's got you screaming hatred through the house instead?

"I hate them!" she snarled.

"I happen to know that isn't true."

"'Tis today."

"No it isn't; if I'm not mistaken, there's at least one boy whom you like very much."

"Today I hate them all."

"Gin, really. What's the matter?"

Ginny sat up suddenly, waving her hands around her face to remove any hair from it, and looking at Hermione with speculative suspicion. Then stuttering in her fury, "My brothers are…are…are all…they're all-"

"Gin," warned Hermione, seeing the look on her friends face, and attempting to head off any swear words.

Ginny growled inarticulately before hissing, "Oh Fine. They're all utter pillocks, that's what they are! And I hate them."

Hermione, knowing this wasn't true, looked at her friend for a long moment, considering. "What if we had a male free day huh? How would that be?"

"Girls' day?" the redhead whispered, anger abetting. "No boys?"

"No boys," Hermione agreed. "A girls only day."

Ginny considered a moment.

"Okay."

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Next Chapter: The very first Girls' Day! That's right, next time we get to see the very beginning of the boyless tradition so beloved in Seasonal Suffering. How exciting! Unfortunately this means there will once again be a shortage of Harry/Ginny Ron/Hermione moments, but…it's all for a good cause (read: furthering the plot), I promise. And who knows, maybe I'll take pity on you all and throw in a little something unexpectedly! Hmmm…something to think about. Until then!

Read and Review!


	6. Boys Boycott

Antithesis

Disclaimer: I don't own anything even remotely related to Harry Potter, except a little bit of merchandise. The characters, world, ideas, etc. belong to that wonderful J.K. Rowling and the WB movie people.

Notes: So, my best friend looked at me one day, out of the blue, and said to me, "Hey, did you ever finish that Harry Potter story you were working on? The one about Harry and Ginny?" I blinked. "Not yet," I said. "I've been meaning to, but I've been somewhat distracted." "Oh. Well, I waned to know what happened." Aren't best friends wonderful motivators? This chapter's for you, my dearest friend, because you're constantly encouraging me (read: nagging, threatening and guilting me) into writing more often. And to my readers who have stuck with this story despite its frequent, long, and unintentional hiatuses.

**Chapter Six: Boys Boycott**

After some discussion, Ginny and Hermione had come to the conclusion that their best bet for a boy-free day would be a trip to Diagon Alley. Not because there were no boys in Diagon Alley, but because none of them were Weasleys (or honorary Weasleys) and could therefore be ignored. The two girls were securely ensconced in Ginny's room for the duration of this discussion, Hermione having decided they would never make it out of the house if any of the Weasleys overheard their conversation (which, she pointed out, was pretty likely if they held it in the living room). So they had snuck up the stairs, locked the door, and huddled together in their pajamas in the middle of Ginny's bed as they plotted their escape from the males of their acquaintance in soft voices and the occasional whisper.

"We can use Harry's birthday as an excuse," Hermione said, pretending not to notice that Ginny was still cringing every time a male name was mentioned. "I'll tell your mum I still need to buy him a gift, and that I don't want to go shopping alone."

"You haven't bought him a gift yet?" Ginny looked at her friend with something akin to shock on her face. They were only weeks away from Harry's birthday; this sort of procrastination was extremely unusual for Hermione.

"Of course I have, don't be silly."

"Then…"

"It's an excuse, Ginny," Hermione huffed.

Ginny's eyes widened in realization. "You're going to _lie_? To my _mum_?"

Hermione's gaze was as flat as her voice. "Do you want Girls' Day or not?"

Ginny nodded.

"Well then," Hermione said primly.

Ginny had let Hermione talk to her mother about their proposed Girls' Day, primarily because she couldn't think of anything that would convince her mother to let them go to Diagon Alley by themselves. "We'll have to do it in the morning," Hermione said. "If we do it too long beforehand, she'll come up with some way to stall us, or send an escort."

"If we catch her first thing, she'll be more agreeable," said Ginny.

Hermione nodded. "And no one else will be up to ask questions yet. Good idea."

So, Hermione had woken Ginny at first light the next morning. They got ready quickly and hurried down the stairs to the kitchen just as Mrs. Weasley was starting breakfast.

"Morning, Mum!" Ginny greeted. She leaned over to give her mother a kiss on the cheek and then reached to remove the kettle from the stove, deftly pouring hot water for three cups of tea.

"Well, good morning girls!" Mrs. Weasley accepted her cup from her daughter and looked back and forth between the two. "What are you doing up so early?"

Ginny and Hermione exchanged looks. "About that," said Hermione. "Mrs. Weasley, do you think I could talk to you for a minute? In the other room?"

Mrs. Weasley looked startled, then looked down at the food she already had going. "Well, of course, dear, just let me—"

"Don't worry, Mum, I'll get it." So Ginny had stepped in and quietly taken over making breakfast while Hermione took her mother into the living room to make their request. Mrs. Weasley had been hesitant at first, unwilling to let the girls go off on their own with Voldemort on the loose, but Hermione reminded her of their more than adequate knowledge of Defense Against the Dark Arts, as proven by their actions in the Department of Mysteries the previous school year. "Besides," Hermione had added, "You-Know-Who's not likely to be parading about in the middle of wizarding London in broad daylight, is he? Especially when the public is so painfully aware of him." Then, to Ginny's delight, Hermione had ignored her self-imposed rule to keep her nose out of whatever conflicts arose between Ginny and her brothers and strengthened their argument by telling Mrs. Weasley exactly why she thought Ginny needed a break from the house. Mrs. Weasley was furious of course. After all, it hadn't been so long ago that several of her sons had put her only daughter in St. Mungo's, so she was perhaps a little over-protective where Ginny was concerned lately. Combined with her lack of enthusiasm for the twins' pranking in general, the incident more than convinced Mrs. Weasley that the two girls needed out of the house while she sorted things out with the boys. "I suppose Diagon Alley should be safe enough," Mrs. Weasley had capitulated. "Just be very careful and be back before dark." She'd even dug around until she found a few of sickles and a handful of knuts to send with them. "For lunch, dear," she'd explained as she tucked them into Ginny's pocket, "and maybe some ice cream after."

Even so, standing in the living room a short while later, lunch money jangling away in her pocket and both their wallets carried in Hermione's purse, Ginny could still hardly believe they were actually being allowed to go.

"Are you sure you don't want to take Ron along at least?" Mrs. Weasley asked as the two girls prepared to leave. She'd made them stay long enough to eat a quick breakfast, but she had agreed with Hermione that it would be better if they were gone before the others were up.

Hermione shook her head. "He can't keep a secret to save his life, Mrs. Weasley; he'll tell Harry what I bought the first time he asks."

"Besides," added Ginny, "he'll only complain when we make him carry our packages."

"Well, all right then." Mrs. Weasley still seemed a little uncertain, so Hermione smiled at her reassuringly.

"We'll be fine, Mrs. Weasley," she told her.

"And back by six?"

"And back by six."

"All right then," she said again, businesslike this time, "off you go dears." She shooed them towards the fireplace, and took the pot of Floo powder down from the mantle. "Hermione first, then you, Ginny," she said, twisting the lid off. "Make sure you stay in public places and bright, broad streets. Don't go sneaking down any of those dim little side alleys. And don't you worry about the twins, dear," Mrs. Weasley told her daughter while holding the pot out to the Gryffindor prefect. "When I'm through, they'll be sorry they ever learned the meaning of the word prank."

"Yell at them where Charlie can hear," Hermione said, her mild tone belied by the sly glint in her eyes. She scooped up some Floo powder and threw it into the fireplace.

Mrs. Weasley's eyes lit up. "What a clever idea," she murmured.

Hermione grinned and winked at Ginny, then went spinning away to Diagon Alley. A few moments later, Ginny followed her.

The two girls arrived at The Leaky Cauldron without mishap and, after dusting themselves off, they headed excitedly for the courtyard in the back. Hermione did the honors, and the wall soon opened up to reveal—

"Freedom!" Ginny squealed excitedly, snatching Hermione's arm and pulling her through the archway onto the cobbled street of the hub of wizarding London. "I've never been here on my own before, can you believe it?"

"Knowing your mum, yes I can."

Ginny glanced at her, amused, and asked, "What should we do first?"

"Have you bought Harry a birthday present yet?"

Ginny, who had been peering longingly at a window display full of high-quality cauldrons (Potions buff that she was), paused and shifted her weight nervously. "Er…no. Mum was going to take us a bit later to do that."

"Let's do that first, then," Hermione said.

Ginny tilted her head at her friend. Something in her tone was off…Hermione looked a little uncomfortable too, and Ginny couldn't understand why. Hermione wilted a little under the redhead's regard, then scowled.

"I don't like lying!" the brunette finally exclaimed. "At least this way, _one_ of us will have bought Harry a present!"

Ginny laughed. "Better head for Quality Quidditch then," she said, and the girls began walking again. When they'd gone a little ways, Ginny suddenly asked, "What did you buy him, Hermione?"

"Harry?"

Ginny nodded. "I haven't a clue what to get him."

Hermione avoided meeting Ginny's eye, and the redhead thought she looked rather nervous. "You won't like it Ginny," she hedged.

"What? Why? What did you get him?"

"Well, a new jar of broom handle wax, for a start," she began.

Ginny smiled. "He'll like that; he needs it."

"I know," Hermione laughed. "He's been complaining he's almost out. Daft boy. He could just order a new one."

"He forgets," said Ginny.

"I know." The girls shared an understanding smile. Even after five years, the boy who was raised in a cupboard often forgot he now had the means to do things like order broom handle wax. Wealthy as he was, he could certainly afford it, but he tended to forget he had money at all. "Anyway," Hermione continued, "that's not the part you'll dislike." She took a deep breath. "I also got him some quills, you know, the kind they sell with the logoed stems? And a Quidditch patterned stationary kit."

"Stationary? Why would you get Harry—" She stopped. Thought. Gasped. "You're _leaving_!" she accused.

Hermione winced.

"Why?" Ginny wailed. "How could you leave me alone in that house? You've seen what it's like! I'll go insane!"

"I have to!" Hermione cried in self-defense. "My parents want to take me on holiday as an early birthday present. We're to spend two weeks touring Italy and Greece before the start of term."

"Two weeks!"

"It won't be for a while yet, Ginny," Hermione assured her with a sigh. "It's still ages away. Besides," she added, "you know the house will clear up after Harry's birthday. Charlie and Bill will go back to work, the twins will go back to their shop, and Harry will be there to distract Ron, so it won't be nearly so bad."

"That's something anyway," Ginny muttered. "Still."

Hermione sighed, knowing there's was nothing more she could do or say to make it better. "Come on. Let's go see what we can find for Harry's birthday."

As it turned out, they could find quite a bit. Quality Quidditch Supplies was, as usual, chock full of interesting Quidditch gear and paraphernalia. When they first arrived at the store, Ginny was momentarily distracted by the new racing broom in the window, but Hermione pulled her away; she opened the door and tugged a protesting Ginny through after her, and the protests died on Ginny's lips. The redhead took a deep breath, just one as she crossed the threshold, and savored it, lost to the smell of broom polish and dragon hide. Hermione watched her do this, mystified. It was the same thing Ron and Harry did whenever they came in here and she just didn't understand it. She could allow that the store smelled nice (who didn't love the smell of leather?) but there was something almost ritual about the way they took that first breath—eyes closed, motionless, breathless for several seconds, then the exhale and the smile…

Ginny let her breath out and smiled, earlier pique forgotten. She caught Hermione's questioning look. "What?"

"Why do you do that?" Hermione had never had the courage to ask Ron and Harry, but this was Ginny. Somehow that made it safer.

"Do what?"

"That breath thing. Ron and Harry do it too."

"Do they? It's just, it smells like Quidditch."

"Of course it does; it's a Quidditch store."

"No. I mean it is but…but this is what Quidditch _smells_ like. Like broom polish and dragon hide and wood. And sometimes wet wool," she added, plucking at a woolen jumper hanging from a nearby rack that was charmed to be waterproof. "It's only missing the smell of the wind."

"I don't get it."

"Yes you do." She sighed at Hermione's blank expression. "Look, when you come in here, what does it make you think of?"

"I don't understand." Hermione was clearly starting to feel distressed.

Ginny lead her to an out of the way corner and told her to close her eyes. "Now," she instructed when Hermione had done so, "take a deep breath. What's the first thing that comes to mind?"

"Ron." Hermione's eyes popped open, startled. "Why is that?" she asked, blushing faintly.

Ginny grinned. "Because Quidditch _players_ smell like _Quidditch_. You can always tell a Quidditch player by the lingering smell of broom polish and dragon hide and wind on their clothes. And _Ron_ is your favorite Quidditch player."

"Well that's hardly true. Harry plays too and they're both my best friends."

"You don't fancy Harry," Ginny told her placidly.

Hermione spluttered. "I don't fancy Ron either!"

"Hmmmmm." Ginny was smelling a pair of dragon hide gloves. "I _love_ these. Charlie brought me a pair on his last trip home. Even if they weren't the best gloves a girl could have, I'd love them just for the smell."

"And because they're from Charlie," a still blushing Hermione reminded her.

"True. I love pretty much everything Charlie gives me." Ginny grinned. "The question is, if he didn't have such wonderful taste, would I love it half so much?"

"You're horrible," said Hermione. "And you're not buying Harry gloves; he has a perfectly serviceable pair already. So put them down."

Ginny did so. "I don't know what to get him though."

"Ginny, you have a whole store full of possibilities here."

Ginny made a face. "I know. But in a way that just makes it harder."

Hermione shook her head. "Come on."

The two girls shopped around for a while, picking things up and setting them back again when Ginny rejected them ("too plain…too ugly…too expensive…" that last one came up a lot). Eventually they wandered over into the team-specific section of the store, and Ginny's face lit up. Hermione backed away a couple of steps when she saw it—that particular expression rarely led to good things.

"What?" Hermione asked her warily.

Ginny laughed. "Harry's favorite team is Puddlemere." Ginny was especially happy about this because it was her favorite team too, although he probably didn't know that.

"I know," said Hermione, because she did.

"Ron doesn't," Ginny told her, expression turning absolutely wicked.

"Really? How—never mind. I don't want to know. Why does it matter?"

"Because, Harry doesn't really own any Puddlemere gear. He won't buy any because he feels a bit bad about it—you know, about not liking Ron's team."

"Oh for—" Hermione rolled her eyes.

Ginny nodded. "I know. Which is why it's going to be so brilliant when I give him _this_!" She motioned with her hand to the large poster on the wall behind her. It was one of the really big ones—"wall sized," five by five feet—printed on cloth to prevent wrinkling or tearing, and made to hang like a banner from a wooden dowel threaded through loops at the top. It featured moving segments of the more spectacular moves and tactics recently performed by the current Puddlemere team—shown one after the other, like a slide show—in the main portion, with the team logo and the year emblazoned in bold lettering across the bottom.

Ginny watched as Hermione tilted her head, thinking. Ron would absolutely hate it, Ginny knew. Harry, who felt bad about purchasing things for himself in general, and about this in particular (out of loyalty to Ron), would love it. He would feel bad about selfishly betraying Ron's trust that they loved the same team, but because it was a gift, he would gladly accept. Ginny figured it was time for Ron to realize Harry could make his own Quidditch decisions anyway. This would be an effective—and quick—way to get it through to him.

If Hermione's sudden grin was anything to go by, she understood the logic behind the purchase and agreed with it.

Ginny smiled back when she caught sight of Hermione's grin and nodded. "Exactly," she said.

"You're going to start a war in your house if you do this," Hermione warned.

Ginny shuffled through the boxes beneath the desired poster, looking for just the right one. Many of the palm-sized boxes the shrunken poster (and all it's shrunken accompanying parts) came in were less than perfect. She wanted a perfect one—lacking dents, scratches, bent corners, or signs of a previous customer's obvious attempts to have opened it.

"I know. It's going to be fun—I miss the Quidditch wars we used to have on match days." The Weasley children, who mostly favored different Quidditch teams, used to have full-scale arguments (that occasionally digressed into actual fistfights and wrestling matches among the boys) about their teams of choice when all the boys still lived at home. Occasionally the subject still popped up in conversation if a family gathering happened to occur on the same day as a prominent Quidditch match, but the current conversations lacked the intensity of the old mock battles, and Ginny kind of missed them. "_This_ will definitely liven things up again," she added with a grin, holding up her chosen poster box.

"Sadist," said Hermione, amused.

Ginny just laughed. "Let's go check out," said the redhead. When they reached the counter, Ginny did some quick mental calculation and decided she had enough to throw in a package of chocolate Snitches. Hermione had bought some for her the following year when she'd made Seeker in Harry's absence. A lot like Muggle truffles but with moving wings (if you let them go, you could actually chase them about a bit before the charm wore off), chocolate Snitches were one of her favorite treats. She figured Harry, with his odd affinity for Chocolate Frogs (or any chocolate really, something that was unusual for a boy in her experience), would probably like them too. The cashier quickly wrapped her purchases in plain brown paper and packed them into a small bag with the Quality Quidditch brand name stenciled on the front. Ginny accepted it from him, along with her change, and skipped out the door.

"I feel much better now that that's done," she said, smiling at Hermione. "Maybe there's something to this no procrastination thing."

"You think?" Hermione rolled her eyes, but she was smiling too, and Ginny laughed.

After that, the girls shopped around without any particular goal in mind—they chose their stops primarily on window display or individual interest. They _did_ spend an hour or so in Flourish and Blotts, but Ginny had expected that from the start, and she wasn't adverse to bookstores anyway, being fond of reading herself. What she didn't expect was for Hermione to hand her a thick, heavy book from her bag after they exited the store.

"What's this then?" she asked examining the book. It was leather-bound and very pretty. The title embossed on the cover and spine in flowing silver script read "The Secret of the Animagi." For all its pristine condition, it was clearly rather old. "Hermione?"

"It's a mystery novel," she said. "I've read several other books by that author, and they're really good. The story was written a hundred years ago, so it's not modern storytelling, but I've seen you reading several things from that era, so I didn't figure you would mind and when I saw them on sale and I thought you might enjoy it. I got myself a copy too," she added, tugging a matching book from her bag. She shrugged. "Apparently they've been having trouble selling them; I got them really cheap."

"Hermione!" Ginny stared at the book, then, unexpectedly, threw her arms around the older girl. "Thank you, thank you, thank you! I haven't had anything new to read in ages!" She stepped back. "You didn't have to get me this though. You could have just offered to let me borrow yours."

"Ginny, it's not a big deal; they weren't expensive and I thought it would be fun to have somebody to discuss a book with for once." Ginny snickered at the idea of Ron and Harry sitting around discussing literature with Hermione. "And you're always welcome to borrow books from me."

Ginny gave her a sideways look. "I'll take you up on that, I hope you know."

Hermione smiled and then flushed when her stomach growled unexpectedly. She looked at her watch. "Goodness! How did it get that late?"

"How late?"

"Just after noon."

"Wow. We've been here four hours and it's hardly felt like any time at all!"

"Glad to know I keep you entertained," was Hermione's wry response. "Where shall we go for lunch?"

They found a small open café on one of the quiet side streets off the main alley that they liked the looks of and ordered a nice lunch of sandwiches and salads with ice-cold pumpkin juice. They chose a small table nearest the street and ate at a leisurely pace, and when they were finished, they sat back in their chairs and talked and watched the people passing by. Eventually they left the café and wandered around some more, but neither of them saw anything they were particularly interested in, so their wanderings were mostly aimless. This sort of pointless movement was never really a good idea with Ginny, unfortunately. She tended to get bored. And when Ginny got bored, she came up with ways to escape her boredom. All sorts of ways. Outlandish ways that Hermione found irresponsible and shocking and secretly enviable because she would never dare do those things herself.

At some point during that early part of their afternoon, while Hermione was gazing absently at a moving display in a nearby shop window, Ginny decided she was bored…

"Hey," Ginny said suddenly, brightly, wickedly (Hermione's heart clenched in fear), "we should go to Muggle London."

"Whatever for?" Hermione asked.

"Because we can. Because I've never been and I happen to have the perfect Muggle city guide standing right beside me. Because I'm _bored_, Hermione!"

"You're serious!" Hermione exclaimed, shocked.

"Yes," Ginny agreed.

"Oh no!" said Hermione.

"Come on, it'll be fun!"

"No, it won't. We're bound to run into some kind of trouble; this is _you_ we're talking about. And even if we _don't_ have any problems in the city," Hermione added when it looked as though Ginny were about to protest, "we'll get into trouble as soon as we get home."

"How?" Ginny demanded.

"Your mum'll know we were in Muggle London, Ginny. Of _course_ we'll get in trouble for it."

"What? How would she ever know we were in Muggle London?"

"Someone will see us and tell her. We'll drop an Underground ticket on our way through the kitchen. She'll _look_ at us. How should I know?"

"Hermione—"

"Your mum will _look_ at us, and she will _know_."

"That's ridiculous, Hermione. And I never thought _I'd_ be the one saying that to _you_."

"Allowing us to come to Diagon Alley alone is a big show of trust, Ginny, and I've already lied to your mum once today. We don't need go about breaking any more rules."

"She'll never know unless you go telling her. And it'll be fun!" Now that she'd hit on the idea, Ginny was determined.

"No. It isn't safe, Ginny," Hermione reminded her. "What if You-Know-Who—"

"He's not likely to go parading about Muggle London in broad daylight anymore than he's likely to come here. Even if he were _looking_ for us, which is really unlikely, he wouldn't look _there_. We'll be careful, we'll keep our eyes open, and we've got our wands. We'll be fine."

"We haven't the money for it," Hermione said, switching tactics.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "So we'll make a trip to Gringott's and exchange some. Hermione, please!"

Hermione gritted her teeth. "We are _not_ going to Muggle London."

* * *

Twenty minutes and a trip to Gringott's later, Hermione was still protesting.

"We're not dressed for Muggle London, Ginny."

"We're both wearing jeans and tee shirts under our robes, Hermione. All we have to do to fit in is take our robes off," Ginny told her, making her way back to The Leaky Cauldron and determinedly pulling Hermione after her.

"Wouldn't you rather have some ice cream?" Hermione asked, pointing at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor as she was dragged past it in a last ditch effort to distract her companion.

"Later," Ginny replied, sensing imminent victory.

"At least our bags and things are fairly non-descript," Hermione muttered reluctantly. "Nothing we can do about the Quidditch bag, but likely no one will think much of it. So long as we take our robes off and keep all our purchases out of sight in their bags, I suppose we'll be alright."

"Yes!" crowed Ginny.

The trip through Muggle London was interesting for both girls: for Ginny because she'd never been in a big Muggle city unless she was passing through on the way to the train station, and for Hermione because Ginny was so enthusiastic. She wanted to see everything: clothing stores, art stores, a home appliance store, a hundred different bookstores, even a small corner market. Hermione suggested a compromise and took her to a nearby chain store that that had a bit of everything and Ginny spent a couple hours leading Hermione about as she explored. Every so often Ginny would see something she didn't understand or that particularly piqued her interest, and she would stop and quietly ask for an explanation: What is this? What is that? What's this for? What's this? And Hermione would answer: A washing machine. A mechanical pencil. A toilet brush, for cleaning toilets ("Ewww! They do that by _hand_?"). A coffee maker. Everything was so new to Ginny; even the advertisements on the streets they had passed through were a novelty. In a way, it made Hermione look at everything with new eyes too. Each item, so mundane on any other trip, took on new points of interest, and Ginny quickly came to the decision that the older girl was thoroughly enjoying explaining everything.

They were nearing mid-afternoon when Hermione decided they'd better head back. Ginny was disappointed, but agreed, and the two girls stopped by the checkout stand so that Ginny could purchase a Muggle candy bar; she'd been curious about them for ages. The store had a stack of free catalogues by the checkout stand, and Ginny watched as Hermione picked one up on their way out.

"What's that for?" Ginny asked, taking a bite of her candy bar. It was pretty good, she thought, and took another bite.

"It's a catalogue. I thought, since you were so curious, maybe we could flip through it later. It has pictures, so you can see what I'm talking about while I explain it; I thought it might be a good teaching tool…" she trailed off uncertainly. "And if you're not interested, I thought your dad might like to look at it. I could pretend it came in the post."

"Are there more Muggle appliances in there? I want to know more about all the weird stuff in their kitchens, like the toasters." Toasters had been particularly fascinating to the redheaded witch. "Also, plum…plumping? With the pipes."

"Plumbing?"

"Yeah. I still don't understand how they get everything set up and running in their bathrooms without magic."

"Hmm. I might have to do some research there. I don't know much about plumbing myself."

"And about washing machines," Ginny added, who had liked that appliance almost as well as the toasters. She grinned at her older friend, who smiled back in relief. "You should pretend it came in the post anyway," Ginny continued, referring to the catalogue. "That way Dad can see it too."

"That's probably best anyway," Hermione murmured thoughtfully. "Then no one will ask questions about where we got it."

"Hey, what's this?" Ginny had stopped, head tilted to one side, to examine one of the storefronts they were passing on their way back to Diagon Alley.

"A second-hand shop, I should think. You have to be careful with those, because sometimes they're really shabby, but some of them sell some really interesting things you just can't get anywhere else." This particular shop seemed to be one of the latter, if the display window was anything to judge by. "Want to go in?"

Ginny hesitated, then nodded.

Hermione checked her watch. "Okay," she said. "But we can't stay long."

The girls went in and wandered around for a bit. Ginny laughed at some of the things they found there, but she also found a few things she decided she couldn't do without, including a pair of like-new corduroy pants she determined were too soft and comfortable not to take home; a big, slouchy cloth purse; and, to Hermione's fearful amusement, a couple of ribbed black ski masks.

"What are these for?" Ginny had asked when she'd spotted them. The look on her face was…adoring. As if she already knew of all their diabolical uses. As if she already had plans to use them for those purposes. As if they were _calling_ her to do so.

Hermione had felt an odd lurch in her stomach at the thought. She hesitated. Somehow, she just knew this was going to come back to bite her. "Those are ski masks. They're supposed to be worn to protect the face from the cold when skiing but—" Hermione stopped, uncertain how to continue; unsure she _ought_ to, considering her audience and the look on her face.

"But what?"

"But criminals wear them too, to keep their faces from being recognized. These masks are almost known better for that than for their original purpose."

"Incognito," Ginny murmured, and looked at the masks, considering (and cuddling them to her chest). "I like them," she decided (and Hermione mentally groaned). "They could be…useful."

"Useful?" Hermione despaired.

Ginny's answering grin was wicked. "I haven't had my revenge on the twins yet. Something like this," she held up the masks, "could be useful."

"And you'd need two?"

"Maybe," said Ginny mysteriously.

Hermione shook her head. "I don't even want to know."

Ginny grinned and made her purchases, delighted by the low cost of her good-as-new acquisitions. She was in an exceptionally good mood by the time they made it back to the Leaky Cauldron—where they pulled on their robes and stuffed their Muggle purchases deep inside the bags they were already carrying from their morning shopping—and was practically skipping along beside Hermione (who was nowhere near as embarrassed by this as Hermione felt she should be) when her sweet tooth made itself known.

"I think I'm ready for some ice cream," she told Hermione. "What about you?"

"We'd better eat some now if we're going to at all," Hermione replied. "It's getting late and we don't want to ruin our dinners."

This was such a _Hermione_ thing to say that Ginny found herself giggling a bit. Hermione looked at her strangely, but Ginny just shook her head. "I think I want chocolate-chocolate fudge flavor," she said. "In a big sugar cone."

They had just left the Leaky Cauldron with the intent of heading over to Florean Fortescue's when Ginny spotted a familiar figure just down the road. It was the pale blond hair shining in the sun that first caught her attention, worn loose as it was and floating about its owner's slim shoulders, but the slender build and the girl's singular way of almost dancing as she walked were just as familiar.

"Is that Luna?" asked Hermione, having seen the girl herself.

"I think so." Ginny stood on tiptoe, trying to see better. The girl was short, and Ginny wasn't very tall herself…

Hermione, who was taller, tilted her head and nodded. "I think so too." She paused for a moment, sighed resignedly. "How would you feel if we asked her to join us?"

Ginny grinned at the older girl. "That would be brilliant."

"We'd better catch her then."

They hurried after the elusive blond, but she glided easily around and among the crowds of people on the busy street (despite the fact that she was taking one step backwards for every three steps forward) where Hermione and Ginny couldn't seem to take more than a couple of steps without bumping into someone. Finally they were close enough that they could see her clearly.

"Luna!" Ginny called. The Ravenclaw turned at the sound of her name and smiled demurely when she recognized them.

"Hello, Ginny, Hermione," she said, her voice soft and dreamy.

"Hi," Ginny answered, grinning. "What are you doing here?"

"Daddy is here on business," she replied, smiling in her distant way. "I'm along to have a bit of a holiday. And because Daddy didn't want to leave me home alone. It's not safe, you know."

"I thought you were going to Sweden this summer," said Hermione. "To look for…"

"Crumple-Horned Snorkacks," Ginny filled in, looking sternly at Hermione, who just looked mildly back. She appeared to be curious rather than making fun.

"Yes, we're leaving next week. We're going to spend a month there, you know. Daddy and I have been doing research; we have a list of places they've been spotted recently."

"That sounds lovely Luna," said Ginny, grinning good-humoredly. "Listen, we were just heading over to Fortescue's for some ice cream. Want to come along?"

"This is very serendipitous," said Luna serenely. "I was just heading there myself. Daddy and I are supposed to meet for an ice cream when he's finished his business, you know. I think I would prefer walking in your company to going by myself." She started walking: three steps forward, one back; three steps forward, one back. Ginny and Hermione walked slowly to keep pace without having to mimic her odd walk, Ginny grinning in wide amusement the whole way. (Especially when she caught sight of Hermione's carefully controlled expression. The older girl liked Luna well enough, but Ginny knew she often considered the Ravenclaw to be impractical, illogical and odd, three things Hermione didn't necessarily deal well with nor have much patience for.) This was one of the things Ginny loved about Luna; she was never afraid to be herself no matter where she was or what other people thought. Her carefree nature and positive outlook could always lift Ginny's spirits and make her laugh. And she had never judged Ginny or shied away from her because of the events that took place in their first year. For these simple reasons, Ginny loved Luna as a best friend and willingly defended her (against the world, if she had to).

Hermione had first put up with her for Ginny's sake, but Luna had a way of growing on you, even when she was being thoroughly, unreasonably, and irritatingly odd…

"What have you been doing while you're dad's working?" Ginny asked, noticing the bags her friend was carrying. "It looks like you've been shopping.

"I've been buying supplies for our trip," Luna replied. "It takes a lot of material and careful planning just to catch sight of the elusive Crumple-Horned Snorkack, you know." And she launched into an explanation of all the strange herbs, potions, baits and accessories required to search out Crumple-Horned Snorkacks.

Somewhere near the end of this monologue, the three girls arrived at the ice cream parlor where, to Luna's delight, Mr. Lovegood was waiting.

"Hi there, Pumpkin," he greeted his daughter, smiling and dropping a kiss to her brow. "Who are your friends?" Luna introduced the two girls, and Mr. Lovegood enthusiastically shook their hands in turn. He then insisted on buying them all ice cream.

The rest of the afternoon (what little there was of it) passed very pleasantly. A little after half passed five, Mr. Lovegood stood and motioned to his daughter, explaining it was time they were heading home.

Hermione checked the time and gasped. "We'd better go too. We don't want to be late getting back," Hermione told him, and shook his hand again when he offered it.

Ginny accepted a handshake of her own. "It was very nice to meet you, Mr. Lovegood."

He beamed at them both. "And you, and you! It's always nice, meeting friends of my Luna."

Then with hugs and smiles and promises to see each other on the train on September first, the three girls separated. Hermione and Ginny walked quickly back to the Leaky Cauldron, happily discussing their day and laughing over their forbidden trip. "I still can't believe I let you talk me into that," Hermione muttered, checking one last time to make sure all their Muggle purchases were tucked away out of sight. "If I die of guilt before morning, I hope you feel properly remorseful over it," she added with a sniff. Ginny laughed, and then the two Flooed home before it got any later.

As it happened, they arrived home exactly at six—just half an hour before dinner (which had been Mrs. Weasley's plan from the beginning). "Hello girls!" she called when she heard the fireplace flare twice followed by the sound of their voices. She peered into the living room, mixing bowl stirring itself under one arm where she could keep a close eye on it. "How was your day?"

The two girls grinned at one another. "Oh, Mum, it was brilliant," sighed Ginny.

Mrs. Weasley looked back and forth between them, taking in their bags and packages, the flush to their faces, and their smiles. The strained air she had seen that morning—mostly hanging about Ginny, but touching Hermione as well—was noticeably absent. She smiled, delighted that she had allowed this obviously necessary trip, and tearing up because she felt she should have known without their asking that they needed something of the sort. "I'm so glad," she said, then, because she had always been emotionally effusive, she rushed forward to give each girl a tight hug with her free arm, sniffing back her tears. "All right then, dears," she said, "go and take your packages upstairs and take off your outdoor things. It'll be dinner in just a bit."

"Do you need us to set the table, Mrs. Weasley?" Hermione asked, because it was usually their task to do so.

"No, dear," said Mrs. Weasley firmly. "The twins will do that when they get in from the garden." She smiled, and it was late enough in the day that the expression was only slightly colored by the anger of that morning. "If they've time to scheme up pranks, they've clearly too much time on their hands. Time they could be spending cleaning out the attic," she added under her breath.

There was a scuffling sound from the back of the house, followed by a familiar squeal and a distant thud. This had been happening throughout the conversation, Ginny realized, but it took her awhile to figure out what it was because there was no cheering involved. She'd never heard that noise when there wasn't cheering.

"Are they de-gnoming?" she asked.

Mrs. Weasley smiled grimly. "Yes they are. And if they know what's good for them they'll not miss any either. Now you two run upstairs and put your things away. Dinner's in twenty minutes."

The girls headed up the stairs to Ginny's room, chatting happily about their day. They were making enough noise that Harry and Ron heard them from Ron's room and came down to see them.

"Is it safe to come in?" asked Ron from the doorway.

"Why wouldn't it be, Ron?" asked Hermione, giving him a funny look. He didn't usually ask to come in. He usually just barged in and got yelled at.

"After everything that's been going on, we're a little nervous to be around Ginny," he said, leaning against the doorjamb with his arms crossed. "We don't want to come in if she's going to bite our heads off for it like yesterday."

"You can come in, Ron," said Ginny, rolling her eyes. Ron didn't move, but continued to block the door with his wide frame, forcing Harry to lean against the jamb on the opposite side just to see in around him. The be-spectacled boy didn't really seem to mind.

"What do you mean, 'all that's been going on lately'?" asked Hermione. "What's been going on?"

"Well, first there was yesterday, when she tried to kill me," he said, ticking the reasons off on his fingers as he went, "and then this morning, she got Fred and George yelled at by Mum, and then Charlie told them off this afternoon, and when they mouthed off, he hit them, and then—"

"He what?" Ginny gasped.

"Oh he didn't!" Hermione cried, trying hard, and failing, to look disapproving. A faint laugh escaped when Ron nodded.

"Yeah. Right good punch to the eye, too; one for each of them," Ron explained. "Then Mum refused to heal them when she found out what happened. And it all has to do with you, Gin." He eyed her suspiciously. "Neither of us," he motioned to Harry and himself, "really know what's going on, but we do know it's your fault. So we just want to make sure we're not signing our own death warrants by walking in here, you see."

"I'm actually not so terribly concerned," said Harry dryly. "I just can't get in the door."

Ron glared at him but moved out of the way. Harry sat down near the foot of Ginny's bed, pulling his legs up so he could sit cross-legged, and watched, smirking, as Ron took the only logical spot left: the foot of Hermione's bed. He sat stiffly, feet firmly planted on the floor, and looked everywhere but at Hermione (whose face was a little pink). Harry's smug, knowing little smirk (exchanged quickly with Ginny when the other two weren't looking) grew a bit when Ron shifted back and forth uncomfortably.

After a long, smirky moment, Harry finally broke the tension.

"What's all this then?" he asked, making as if to look in one of Ginny's bags (and pretending not to notice Ron's and Hermione's sighs of relief). Ginny snatched it from him before he could peek, then gathered the rest of her bags and shoved them all under her bed on the side furthest from him.

"You can't look," she told him firmly, glaring at him for trying.

"Why not?" he asked, attempting to look innocent. The look was ruined by the mischievous smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Hermione snorted. "You know full well we went shopping for your birthday today, Harry Potter," she told him. "Stop pretending you don't know that; you're not very good at it."

Harry grinned unrepentantly.

"What about me?" asked Ron, peering over the edge of one of Hermione's bags (the one from the bookstore, ironically enough). "Can I know?"

"No Ronald," Hermione told him, looking cross.

"Why not?"

"Yeah," Harry echoed, looking very carefully innocent again. "Why not?"

Hermione shot Harry a knowing look, then turned to Ron. "Because you'll tell Harry."

Harry, his master plan to discover the nature of his presents through Ron thoroughly foiled, spluttered a laugh.

"I will not!" Ron denied.

"Ron," said Ginny patiently, "I love you dearly, but you can't keep a secret from Harry to save your life."

"That's not true!" Ron insisted.

"Of course it is," said Hermione.

"It is not! Harry, tell them it's not true!"

Harry was laughing and didn't answer.

"He can't Ron," Ginny answered for him, "because it would be a lie."

"What about last summer?" Ron tried. "I didn't tell him about the Order of the Phoenix for a whole month, remember? He got all furious, because of it, and he yelled…a lot."

"And Dumbledore had to swear you to secrecy to manage it too," Hermione said.

"Plus," Ginny pointed out, "Harry wasn't there to tempt you either. He was still at the Dursleys'"

"If you will swear to Dumbledore that you won't tell Harry, and then go away for the time between now and his birthday, I will tell you what we got him," said Hermione.

Harry laughed louder, his eyes tearing slightly.

"I _can_ keep a secret," said Ron, gritting his teeth. "And when Harry's done laughing hysterically he'll tell you so."

This statement was not conducive to stopping Harry laughing. In fact, it seemed to have the opposite effect.

"He was going to use you to find out what his presents were," Hermione informed Ron.

"What?"

"Harry was going to—" Hermione began.

"I heard you the first time!" Ron snapped. "But he wouldn't—Harry?"

Harry fell over, shoulders shaking with his laughter, splayed across the bottom half of Ginny's bed. Ron glared at this wordless admission of guilt and punched him, but Harry just laughed harder, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes.

"I can keep a secret; I don't care what you say," he muttered, turning away from his traitorous best friend to glare at Hermione. The two continued to bicker over the subject, but Ginny shifted her attention to the laughing boy sprawled on her bedspread and leaned down as though to examine him for obvious signs of madness.

"Are you broken?" she asked, patting his head in a consoling fashion. She was feigning concern, but inside she was joyously happy. She'd not seen Harry this carefree in more than a year. And she couldn't remember him laughing since before Sirius died.

Harry caught her hand before she could pull away, suddenly straight-faced and looking up at her with vivid green eyes from close proximity. She caught her breath. "No," he told her slowly, drawing the word out, wicked amusement in his eyes (at what? she wondered, but felt rather certain it was at her expense), "I don't think I am."

"I—you—" She was unable to form words and it was infuriating. She felt a hot flush rising up her neck and across her cheeks.

"I—you—" he mocked, leaning up on one elbow and teasingly tugging on a strand of her hair. He smiled at her, slow and brilliant.

She pushed his hand away, recovering quickly. "Prat," she said. "I don't give presents to people who can't be nice."

The smile widened. "_I_ can be nice," he told her in a low voice.

She blushed again (_Why?_) but sniffed in disbelief. "I'll believe it when I see it, Potter."

"Fine!" cried Ron, lurching to his feet and glaring down at Hermione. "Fine! I can't keep a secret! I agree with you!"

"Ron—" Hermione began.

"No!" said Ron, turning his face away and holding a hand up to stall her speaking. "You'd better not say anything, Hermione. I can't keep a secret. If you were to slip and say something important, I might accidentally tell someone. Like You-Know-Who. And that could get Harry killed, and I don't want to be responsible for that. Best not to say anything at all."

"Ron!"

"Ron, we only said you can't keep a secret from Harry," Ginny reminded her angry brother. She was trying not to laugh but it was so hard!

"He's still got a point," said Harry thoughtfully. "I mean, there's that whole Voldemort-reading-my-mind factor. So I suppose if he told me a secret there's a chance it might get back to Voldemort…" He trailed off, straight-faced.

There was silence for a long, shocked moment, and then, all at once:

"H-Harry!" Ron spluttered.

"Harry, don't say such things!" gasped Hermione.

Ginny, raised with six brothers, just punched him in the shoulder. Hard.

"Ow!" He glared weakly, rubbing his shoulder.

"You deserved it," she said with a sniff. "Now get out, both of you. We have presents to wrap, before somebody manages to get a peek at them. It would be _such_ as disaster if that git Tom Riddle found out what I bought you for your birthday."

There was another bout of shocked silence, and then Harry burst out laughing. Soon all four of them were collapsed across the beds, tears streaming down their faces, laughing hysterically. In that moment, they were utterly and completely happy.

* * *

The following afternoon, Ginny was in the middle of writing one of her summer assignments when she realized she felt rather hungry, so she gathered up her parchment, books, and ink and took herself off to the kitchen to make a quick sandwich while she finished up. She was just sitting down at the scrubbed kitchen table, writing materials spread out around her, when she became aware of a conversation taking place in the next room. Being the Weasley that she was (meaning she knew the value of information), she had no qualms about listening in with half an ear while she worked.

"How long do you think she'll be angry?" a voice was saying. (Ginny knew it was Fred because she could tell the twins apart, even by voice; she was the only one in the family who always knew which twin was which.)

"Yeah," said an almost identical voice, "how long?"

There was an extended silence, and then Ron snickered. Charlie spoke after another short pause, in which Ginny knew he was probably glaring at Ron, although his tone of voice told Ginny he was holding back a wicked laugh of his own.

"Well, she didn't speak to us for a whole day. But we only injured her and embarrassed her a little—"

"And she got revenge on us," added Ron.

"—whereas you tried to turn her into a boy—"

"Which made her mad enough to leave the house and _kept_ her from taking revenge on you," Ron interrupted again.

"—so there's really no telling."

"No revenge means longer exile. It could be months," Ron pitched in helpfully.

"_Months?_" cried Fred.

"Well. You did try to turn her into a boy," reasoned Charlie.

"What was that about anyway?" Ron piped up suddenly.

"Never you mind," said George loftily.

"And anyway," said Fred, "she had mum sic _you_ on us. I'd say that's revenge enough for her!"

"That wasn't Ginny's revenge," said Charlie. "That was mum's."

"It wasn't either. It was Hermione's," said Ron smugly.

"What do you mean?" asked George. Ginny could almost see his eyes narrowing. She smiled, feeling a little smug herself as she added a couple of lines to her essay.

"Hermione and Ginny are really close friends. (Ginny felt warm-fuzzy feelings towards Hermione at this confirmation of their friendship—if _Ron_ was calling them close friends, it was because _Hermione_ was calling them close friends. Ginny tested the newly official term in her mind—Ginny loved Hermione; she was Ginny's close friend—and grinned happily around a mouthful of sandwich.) When Ginny is upset, Hermione tends to be unhappy about it. It's not really a good idea to upset a witch as clever as Hermione."

"The bookworm?" (Ginny felt a stab of renewed anger at Fred for saying this about her close friend. And George for, she was sure, silently agreeing with him. And herself because she'd gripped the quill too hard while she was writing and made a blot on her essay. She sighed and reached for some sand to absorb the excess ink.)

"If you'll recall," said Charlie quietly, "this is the same witch that sneaks around Hogwarts after curfew with our brother and their best friend, breaking rules left and right and generally spoiling Voldemort's plans in between times."

Fred swore. "He's right!"

"Forgot about that," added George.

Pause. "_How_?" asked Ron. "It's happened pretty consistently for the past _five years_."

"She doesn't seem the type." Ginny could hear the shrug in George's voice.

"So what'd she do then, tell Mum to sic Charlie on us?" asked Fred.

"I'm not sure what she did. She just looks smug when I ask." (Ginny loved her secretive friend Hermione.)

"Huh," said George.

"I still say it should count," muttered Fred.

"It won't," said Ron. "And also," he added after a moment's thought, "_we_ begged for forgiveness afterwards." (Ginny paused in her reading and smiled at the memory, tapping her quill against her chin thoughtfully.)

"You begged?" Fred gasped.

"Like, on your knees?" cried George.

"Just about," Charlie murmured.

"We _groveled_," said Ron. (Ginny snickered very quietly and stood up to take care of her empty plate.)

"You poor, pathetic…" George trailed off.

"Ginny wouldn't make _us_ do that, anyway," laughed Fred. (Ginny froze half way to the sink.)

"How do you figure?" asked Charlie, sounding amused himself.

"Well, we are her favorite brothers." (Ginny snorted.)

"That's true!" (Ginny rolled her eyes.)

"_What_?" cried Ron. (Ginny was pretty sure Ron _thought_ he knew better than this.)

"You're sure about that?" asked Charlie calmly. (Ginny _knew_ Charlie knew better than this.)

The back door opened behind Ginny while she was putting her plate in the sink, and she turned around to see Hermione stepping in from the backyard. "Hey Ginny," she said. She glanced at the table, looking at Ginny's assignment, riffled through a couple of her books. "Do you know where Charlie is?"

Ginny pointed silently to the door dividing the living room from the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water, which she carried over to the table.

"Thanks," Hermione said. "Try that one," she added, pointing to one of the books she'd been paging through. The paragraph she'd selected was the perfect complement to the section Ginny was writing. The redhead sat down to read it.

Meanwhile, the conversation in the living room continued:

"By their disbelieving tones, I'd say they're jealous, George," Fred was saying.

"Green even," George agreed.

"We'll have to prove differently, won't we, George?"

"Absolutely, Fred."

"Charlie?" Hermione's voice interrupted their conversation as she poked her head into the room. "Your mum's out back asking for you."

"Thanks Hermione."

Hermione smiled at Ginny and headed back outside as Charlie's footsteps grew louder. "You two are delusional," Charlie said, very nearby. Ginny suspected he'd probably stopped just on the other side of the door. "She's going to make you lick her shoes before she lets you off the hook." He seemed to take some delight in saying this, Ginny thought, taking a drink of water and reaching for her quill. She heard the door swing open and shut.

"Oh," said Charlie. Ginny lowered her glass to see him looking at her knowingly. Ginny smiled back innocently, and he raised an eyebrow (_You can't fool me_, that look said. _Who do you think you're dealing with here?_). A wicked grin spread slowly across his face. "Hi Ginny," he said loudly. Loud enough to be heard in the other room, where there was complete silence. Then he ruffled her hair and disappeared into the mud room. Meanwhile, Ginny could hear the twins hurrying to the kitchen.

"Ginny!" said Fred, ever the opportunist, as they barreled through the door.

Ginny rolled her eyes but they couldn't see it behind her hair as she bent over her assignment.

"Our darling, beloved sister!" added George.

Ginny dipped her quill in her ink, and kept writing.

"Speak, oh loveliest girl-child!"

"Let us hear once more the dulcet tones of your voice, that we may die in peace!"

_Scratch_, _scratch_, _scratch_ went Ginny's quill without pause.

"Ginny!" Fred protested. "Aren't you happy to see your two favorite brothers?"

Ginny glanced around the room before returning her gaze to her parchment. "Well, I would be," she told Fred and George absently, "but I don't see Ron or Charlie anywhere."

In the living room, Ron roared with laughter.

* * *

Well, I know the Ginny/Harry moments were few and far between, but this was a very necessary chapter, I promise. A chapter full of accomplishments, first steps, and familiar things! Anyone who's read Seasonal Suffering should have found quite a few familiar things in this chapter: the buying of the Quidditch birthday gift, the "Origin of the infamous ski masks," the first ever Girls' Day! Admittedly, it was rather mild, but it _was_ the first one. Remember, Ginny still has a long road ahead of her, getting Hermione to loosen up enough to steal presents, have charms battles in the corridors, and go on breaking and entering trips to visit famous Quidditch players. Give her some time. At least she got her to break a rule! Until the next chapter! (I'm thinking it will be Harry's birthday, which, I promise, will be both funny and eventful!)


	7. Family Furor

Antithesis

Disclaimer: I don't own anything even remotely related to Harry Potter, except a little bit of merchandise. The characters, world, ideas, etc. belong to that wonderful J.K. Rowling and the WB movie people.

Notes: Muahahahaha! I have updated in exactly four weeks time! Goooooo me! I deserve major kudos here. It's been forever since the last time I updated that quickly. I am so proud of myself that I am giving all of you, my lovely dear readers, big pieces of chocolate gooey birthday cake. Everyone knows birthday cake is the best celebratory food around, so that is what I am serving. Obviously, you will have to imagine how wonderful and delicious your cake is as I do not have the resources to provide endless slices of cake to you all, nor do I have the ability to get them to you even if I did. So this is imaginary birthday cake. But it is delicious imaginary cake, which is why it is chocolate…meaning, for those of you who lack a love of chocolate (and what is wrong with you?), that chocolate is the only flavor we serve here, so don't bother asking for anything else. Now if you could all please form a single file line, no pushing, yes…and here's one for you, and one for you, and one for you…

Erm…do please keep in mind that this story is only accurate to canon up to and including The Order of the Phoenix. I realize that there are deviations in the plot after that point but this is INTENTIONAL. Okay, now you are free to read the chapter. Enjoy!

**Chapter Seven: Family Furor **

Ginny woke up on the morning of Harry's birthday with a pleasant _zing!_ of anticipation fluttering in her stomach. Hermione was already up, so she jumped out of bed without regard for noise and peered out the window. Sunshine. Excellent. Today was supposed to be perfect—her mother had determined that it must be.

Harry had been rather subdued in the month or so that he had been at the Weasley's, spending more time than usual time off walking in the woods behind the Weasley's house or sitting on the rocks by their little pond, throwing stones in. He perked up when there were others around, and he was pretty normal if he was with Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, but he was—quieter. Introspective. More serious. Part of this was sadness over Sirius's death, although he seemed to be handling that loss rather well, but Ginny thought there was probably more to Harry's moodiness than the loss of his godfather.

For one thing, it wasn't very often sadness that Ginny saw on his face. Unhappiness was there, determination, sometimes anger or even fear, but not a whole lot of sadness. For another, whenever the subject came up (usually mentioned by Mrs. Weasley—"He's so quiet these days, poor dear"), Hermione's face shut down—no surprise, no concern, no expression at all. She was hiding something, Ginny had concluded. What's more, when the subject changed again and they thought no one was paying attention, Hermione and Ron always exchanged significant looks, looks that said: "We know what's going on; it's serious and it's scary. Let's renew our pact to stick by Harry's side like glue and help him through it." There was always something slightly triumphant about these looks too, as though they'd succeeded at something where no one else could.

Ginny tried very hard not to think about how much time she'd spent over the years studying these looks, or that she'd spent even more time studying Harry's. She tried even harder not to think about why she'd bothered; or that she always felt a twinge of anger and unhappiness (it was _not_ jealousy) whenever Ron and Hermione exchanged those determined, triumphant looks she wasn't a part of because she'd never been given the chance to stick with Harry the way they did (not that she wanted to, necessarily, but he was her friend too…and it was the principle of the thing!); or when the three of them held entire conversations without saying anything and she only understood half of it.

She tried not to think about the fact that they didn't trust her enough to tell her what was going on, that they loved her enough to protect her but not enough to let her risk herself for them even after she'd proven herself in the Department of Mysteries. She tried not to think about why that made her sad enough to cry sometimes, when she'd been so sure that she had worked through all this ages ago.

She had at least worked through it enough to know better than to ask about the looks, because they wouldn't tell her. Instead she sat back and read them as best she could from a distance, gleaning as much information as possible from what they let slip without knowing it. Because no one watched them, knew them, like Ginny did. And what she'd gleaned was that something was going on. Not actively, she thought, or they'd be secluded away from the rest of the family a lot more than they had been, but something was up. Then there was the fact that she'd caught the three of them huddled together several times over the summer holding whispered conversations with their "planning" faces on. She was always sure to walk extra loud whenever this happened, so that they'd know she wasn't trying to eavesdrop. Watching their faces to get the gist of what was happening was one thing, purposely invading their privacy by listening in was quite another (so long as they weren't actively planning anything. As soon as she got the idea that there might be something behind their whispered conferences—some plan, some goal, any kind of action at all—that no eavesdropping rule would go right out the window). Besides, as soon as they thought she was eavesdropping, they'd start being more careful about everything. That just made it that much harder to keep watch over them.

After all, _someone_ would have to call the D.A. the next time something big happened. It was obvious from their behavior last year that Harry, Ron, and Hermione wouldn't do it, and only Ginny knew the three of them well enough to know when something was really going on, and when they were just discussing possibilities.

Mrs. Weasley's reaction to Harry's subdued nature (and, by extension, that of Ron and Hermione) had been to set about planning a spectacular birthday party for Harry, to "cheer him up, poor boy." Part of her mother's motivation, Ginny knew, was just that—she wanted Harry to have such a nice birthday that he was able, for one day, to forget about Sirius and Death Eaters and Voldemort and just have a good time with his "family" and friends. But Ginny suspected her mother was also rather afraid she might not have Harry around next year to celebrate his seventeenth birthday—the intensity with which Mrs. Weasley had set about perfecting every detail of her party planning was something of a giveaway. Ginny wasn't sure why her mother feared this, nor why she herself was so sure this was her mother's reasoning, but she did, and she was. Her mother had always had good intuition; Ginny suspected it was telling Mrs. Weasley that Harry, Ron and Hermione would be a bit busy next summer. Ginny suspected this because she had inherited her mother's cunning intuition, and that was what it was telling _her_.

Ginny absolutely _refused_ to think about _that_. The clawing panic that roiled in her stomach and climbed up her throat whenever she did was unexplainable.

So today was the much-planned day, and Ginny couldn't be happier that the weather had cooperated so beautifully and granted them a day of warmth and sunshine. Harry deserved that perfect party her mother had been planning, and her Mum deserved to give it to him.

The redhead showered and dressed for the day as quickly as she could. Harry was supposed to have gone out with Remus Lupin for a few hours this morning (they'd done quite a bit of bonding over the summer since Sirius had died—neither of them had anyone else who would understand so well the hole left by Sirius's death) and the family was to take advantage of that time to set up for the party, which was to last through lunch until mid-afternoon.

Halfway down the stairs, Ginny skidded to a stop. There was another reason she had been so excited about today, she remembered now. Her mother had been determined to make this party a big family occasion. The entire family and all their friends (or at least those it was safe to invite) were supposed to be here. The _entire_ family. Which included Percy.

Surely he would come, she thought. He'd been a right git before, but after everything that had happened—now that Fudge had admitted he was wrong, now that Harry and Dumbledore had been proven right, now that everyone knew that Voldemort was back because Aurors had seen him and Dumbledore had fought him and the _Prophet_ was declaring the truth of it—surely _now_ he would come home where he belonged. She knew her mother had invited him. He'd get the mickey taken out of him, there was no avoiding that. But he'd be _home_.

Grinning in excitement and increased anticipation, Ginny rushed down the remaining steps and bounded into the kitchen.

"Good morning everyone!" she cried. There were murmured replies from Ron, Hermione, Fred, Bill and Charlie, who were seated at the table, but her mother, cooking breakfast at the stove, said nothing. Ginny wasn't really paying attention to the less than enthusiastic replies she received, nor who said them; she was _hungry_. There was a basket full of breakfast biscuits already set out on the table next to Bill and she grabbed one, kissing her oldest brother on the cheek before taking a bite. Then she went looking for some tea. She rummaged around in the cupboard until she found her favorite teacup, then rummaged around some more looking for her favorite tea. A little hot water, a little milk…

Ginny hummed as she assembled her pre-breakfast snack, nabbing another biscuit and slathering half of it with jam (_Grape, plum…Oooo! Strawberry! My favorite!_) before taking an enormous bite. She chewed happily, completely oblivious to the unnatural silence in the kitchen, and reached for the jam jar, spooning another generous helping of strawberry jam onto the other half of her biscuit. It wasn't until she'd sneaked around and nabbed a piece of crispy bacon from the plate beside her mother where they were cooling (an act that normally got her hand smacked) that she realized something was wrong. She glanced around the kitchen, taking in the abnormal silence, the apprehensive look on Charlie's face, the wary look on Hermione's; the way Bill watched her out of the corner of his eye and her other brothers avoided meeting her gaze at all; the way her mother was stirring that pot of gravy with unnecessary vigor. Ginny frowned.

"What's going on?"

Mrs. Weasley sniffed, but there was no other sound in the kitchen.

"Mum?"

No answer, only faster stirring.

After a long stretch of silence, Charlie sighed. He stood and reached for a piece of parchment lying half unrolled on the table by Bill's hand. Her oldest brother grabbed Charlie's wrist and looked up at him. Charlie shrugged in response to whatever Bill was silently saying. "She's going to find out anyway, isn't she?"

"Find out what?" Ginny asked, feeling apprehensive now. Charlie didn't answer. Bill let him go, looking uncomfortable, and Charlie walked around the table, holding the parchment out to her.

"What's this?" she asked, hesitating.

"It's a letter." He extended it a little further. "Go on. Read it."

Ginny took the letter from Charlie and read it. Then she read it again. And then a third time.

"He's not coming?" she asked, staring at the words on the page. Her hands were trembling.

"Ginny—" Mrs. Weasley finally acknowledged Ginny's presence, looking concerned at the expression on her daughter's face. Ginny ignored her.

"He's. Not. _Coming_?" Ginny's voice rose.

"Ginny, really—" Mrs. Weasley's voice quivered, unshed tears sparkling in her eyes.

"WHAT DOES HE MEAN HE'S NOT COMING!" Ginny was aware she was probably yelling loudly enough to wake George, who was still sleeping upstairs, but she didn't care.

"He probably means he's not coming, Gin," Hermione told her quietly.

"Perhaps we should go," murmured Charlie. When no one moved, Bill stood suddenly and reached down to drag Ron up by his collar.

"Outside, you lot," he said, and ushered Fred, Ron and Hermione out the door ahead of him. Charlie shut the door quietly behind himself when he followed them out.

Ginny didn't even notice their leaving.

"HOW CAN HE NOT! BE! COMING!"

"Ginny!" her mother wailed, collapsing into tears, but Ginny was beyond reason.

"THAT SMARMY, DESPICABLE, _ARROGANT_ GIT!"

"Ginny, you w-will not s-s-speak about your b-brother in that way!" Mrs. Weasley sobbed.

"BROTHER! THAT IDIOT IS NO BROTHER OF MINE! THE STUBBORN, SELF-CENTERED, IGNORANT—"

"What's going on?" George asked sleepily, stumbling through the door, barely awake. He froze mid-yawn, eyes widening, when he caught sight of his sister raging at the top of her lungs while their sobbing mother objected in vain.

"—DOESN'T DESERVE A FAMILY LIKE OURS," Ginny was yelling. "HOW COULD HE BE SO STUBBORN? _HOW?_ VOLDEMORT'S BACK! _EVERYONE _KNOWS HE'S BACK! HE—"

"He's a pillock and he's proud," said George furiously, having finally got the gist of what was happening.

This startled Ginny enough to get her to stop shouting. "What?" She frowned. "He's wrong!"

"And Percy has always hated being wrong," George sneered.

Ginny's lip lifted in a sneer of her own.

"H-he's your br-brother n-nonetheless!" Mrs. Weasley said shrilly, stabbing a shaking finger back and forth between them. "W-we d-don't talk about f-family—"

"Did you _read_ this letter?" Ginny cried, interrupting her and shaking the rather battered parchment she was holding in her mother's general direction. "_Did you?_"

"Of c-course I r-read—" Distraught, Mrs. Weasley broke down in tears before she could even finish her sentence.

Ginny hadn't waited for her anyway.

"I don't see how you could have!" Her voice was bordering on a shout again.

"H-he is f-family!"

"HE THINKS WE'RE 'A WASTE OF TIME!' WE'RE OF NO SIGNIFICANCE! HE'S TOO BUSY WITH THE MINISTRY TO BOTHER WITH US! THAT'S! NOT! FAMILY!"

"He said _what_?" snarled George.

Mrs. Weasley sucked in a vicious breath, her expression violently determined. Ginny continued before she could start.

"HE DIDN'T EVEN BOTHER TO SIGN HIS OWN NAME, MUM! IT'S A MINISTRY STANDARD SIGNATURE!"

"Those are—perfectly acceptable—letter closings," Mrs. Weasley gasped, so distressed that she was no longer crying steadily, but rather gulping in air between jerky bouts of sobbing.

"FOR A MINISTRY LETTER! NOT WHEN YOU'RE WRITING HOME!" Ginny screamed in exasperation.

"That. Is. Enough!" Mr. Weasley's dangerously low voice came from the back door. He'd been working in his shed when he'd seen the majority of his children, Hermione in tow, hurrying through the back gate. He'd stepped out of the shed and watched them settle near the pond-shore, shifting restlessly and casting many anxious glances at the back door of the house. Curious and apprehensive, he'd started for the back door. Not long after that he'd heard the shouting.

Mr. Weasley hadn't run that fast in a long time.

Now he stood, arms crossed, glaring around the kitchen in a manner that, had anyone at work seen it, would have stopped any question as to who wore the pants in the Weasley household. It was an expression both rare and frightening for its rarity. It was enough to stop Ginny yelling and get her to think a little more clearly. Trembling with barely contained anger, she watched her father assess the situation. Mr. Weasley didn't know what was going on, but his wife was sobbing, his daughter was screaming at the top of her voice, and his son looked ready to commit murder.

Looking at him, Ginny knew her father was furious.

He took a deep breath. "Now. Someone tell me what is going on here." He glared around the kitchen again for good measure.

This was apparently too much for Mrs. Weasley, who collapsed into steady tears once more and raced into her husband's arms. He held her carefully, but did not relax his stance. "I'm waiting," he told his children.

Ginny was too mad to speak, if she tried it would still come out as a scream. Mutely, she held the crumpled letter out to her father.

He took it, began smoothing it out. "What's this?"

"It's from Percy." George spat the name.

Mr. Weasley dug his spectacles out of the pocket of his robes and set them on his nose. Then he cleared his throat and read aloud:

"_Dear Mother and Father,_

_I hope you will understand that I cannot attend today's, nor any other day's, festivities. Much is happening, as I'm sure you are aware from reading the Prophet, and I am busy aiding the Ministry in its efforts to implement safety standards and make preparations for higher Ministry security. I don't have time to waste on pointless gatherings, which, under the circumstances, are unwise and inadvisable at best anyway. I do wish you would stop sending me these inane invitations as though birthday parties and family holidays are of any significance in the present times._

_Warmest regards,_

_Percy Ignatius Weasley_

_Junior Assistant to the Minister"_

Mr. Weasley removed his glasses with shaking hands. His knuckles were white where he gripped them, and he broke them clean in half while trying to fold them up. He stuffed the pieces back in his pocket with unnecessary force. "Well." His voice was arctic.

Mrs. Weasley wailed into her husband's shoulder.

Ginny hissed out an angry breath. "Pillock," she growled, because if she said what she was really thinking, her mother would remember when she calmed down and promptly wash her mouth out with a Scouring Charm.

"Ginny—" Mr. Weasley began.

"You have to admit it's low, even for Percy," George growled. "Even you're so furious you can hardly see straight."

Mr. Weasley attempted a deep, calming breath. He had to set an example. "Why would you thi—"

"You broke your glasses, Dad," George told him.

"And you're clenching your hands into fists," Ginny added.

"Yeah," said George, a little eagerly, "yeah, that's about how I feel too."

"We are not fighting!" Mr. Weasley declared, glaring again. "He wants us to leave him alone, then fine, we will leave him alone. Alone!" he added over his wife's ensuing cry when it looked like George would protest.

"I'll leave him alone," Ginny muttered. "I'll pretend he never even existed!"

Mrs. Weasley sobbed louder.

"Ginny, stop this. You are upsetting your mother!"

"It's not my fault she's upset! Blame that toe-rag I used to call brother!"

"You are currently the one making her cry!"

"She'd be crying anyway," George muttered mutinously.

Mrs. Weasley wailed.

"THAT'S IT!" Mr. Weasley cried. There was sudden silence in the room. "Everyone outside!" he commanded. "NOW!"

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When those gathered by the shore of the pond caught sight of Ginny and George coming down the path to join them, not one of them missed the fact that both were still furious and upset. Hermione leapt to her feet and hurried to catch Ginny, murmuring questions and reassurances as she took the younger girl off a ways down the path and listened patiently to the redhead's impassioned ranting. Bill and Fred were a little uncertain about Hermione's ability to handle their fiery-tempered sibling in her current state—as angry as they'd ever seen her—but neither Charlie nor Ron seemed the least concerned. In fact, they both visibly relaxed when Hermione took the girl in hand, so their brothers unconsciously followed their example. They didn't have much time to worry about Ginny anyway; George was coming their way with clenched fists and a black expression.

"Did you read it?" he demanded when he reached them. Their affirmative nods began a flurry of pointed, angry questions: What did they think? What was being done? What did they mean nothing? Were they sure they'd read it? Had they paid any attention to it? How could they sit there and passively let that simpering Ministry suck-up say whatever he liked about their family? It took a valiant effort on the part of all of his brothers (most noticeably Fred, who generally shared George's feelings in everything and could usually be persuaded to do so with very little effort on the rare occasion where it didn't happen naturally; and Ron, who shared the twins' short temper) to get him calmed down without reacting themselves. Going off and attacking a prominent (or at least highly visible) Ministry official wouldn't do them any good on the best of days (much less now when the Ministry was likely still dying to get at anyone close to Harry and Dumbledore for investigative and possibly interrogative purposes—they were currently grasping for every bit of information they could get about Voldemort, the threat they'd denied the existence of right up until it showed up in their atrium). Not to mention the fact that it would seriously upset their mother. Again.

Once all of this was pointed out to him, George gave in and grumblingly allowed himself to be calmed. "We can't sit here and do nothing, though," he said mutinously. "We can't let him get away with this."

"Not to worry, brother mine. I've already got a few ideas," Fred told him. George looked up and instantly echoed the wicked smile on his twin's scheming face. He loved that expression; Fred wore it a lot (and George knew he wore it fairly often himself). It was the one that appeared whenever one or the other of them had hit on a particularly brilliant and wonderful idea, usually in relation to some major campaign or revenge tactic. Most recently it had made an appearance in little-sister-related planning sessions, and before that, they'd worn it a lot when they'd been planning school-wide revenge on Umbridge.

Bill—who could remember seeing it on chubby baby faces right before dirty nappies went flying and naked babies went running in opposite directions the second their parents left him in charge (usually screaming gleefully and on one memorable occasion, attempting to use the walls as a loo and leaving some rather nasty stains on the stair carpeting, which had set their mother seething)— knew what it meant and frowned in disapproval.

"Oh don't look at us like that, Bill," Fred told him before he could say anything. "It will be suitably anonymous."

"Give us _some_ credit," added George, rolling his eyes, "we know better than to send it in a WWW box!"

"Exactly! The git will know who it's from, but no one will be able to prove a thing. We'll not cause any trouble for the family, but we're not going to sit by either."

There was a slight pause.

"How come none of you went berserk when you read it?" George asked. "Between Mum crying and Ginny screaming, I almost Apparated over to the little rodent's flat just to tell him what's what. Although I was a little worried Gin might beat me to it," he added with a wry grin, still watching their sister. Ginny had just thrown her hands in the air with a sharp cry and begun pacing rapidly. Her voice was loud enough for the tone to carry, but not loud enough her brothers could hear what she'd said.

"For one, we were trying to stay calm for Mum's sake," Bill told him quietly, turning away from the two girls to address his brother directly.

"Yeah, Mum wasn't crying before Gin came down, was she?" added Ron.

"Secondly, we left before Gin completely lost it just so we _wouldn't_ be tempted to go pound his face in."

"I would have liked the excuse, actually," muttered Fred.

Charlie continued where Bill left off just as if Fred hadn't spoken, adding, "_And_ because Ginny would be really upset about it later if we had."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," muttered Ron, scowling because he agreed with Fred in that he would have liked an excuse to go after their wayward brother and because he didn't like that he felt guilty about it for Ginny's sake. "She's weird like that."

"Protective is the word you're looking for, Ron," Charlie told him mildly.

"Of Percy?" asked Fred.

"Of all of us," Charlie answered. "Hadn't you noticed?" There was a rather stunned silence. Charlie smiled. "She's like Mum that way."

"Except she's less, ummm…restrictive about it," said Ron. "Let's people go their own way a bit more."

"She doesn't like anyone messing with her family," Charlie explained. "She may be furious about this whole letter thing now, but she desperately wants Percy to come home too. If he ever does so, our having pounded him into the ground would really upset her."

"Even if it would have felt really good," muttered George. Charlie smiled—his expression agreed where his words never would.

At this point, Charlie glanced over to check on their sister and the eyes of his brothers followed his gaze, one by one.

She was still ranting.

Bill chuckled suddenly. "You realize," he said, "that, at this rate, all of us are going to owe Ginny a favor or three by the end of the summer?"

"Yes, whose idea was it to send her off to that school to learn defensive spells and a frightening sense of independence anyway?" Fred muttered darkly. Ginny had held out for three days after her trip to Hogsmeade with Hermione before finally giving in and forgiving the twins, contingent upon several things. She had firstly required they never tell anyone the reasons behind their decision to pull the prank that had made her so angry in the first place, and secondly wrangled the promise of two favors (one from each), to be named at some future time (when she'd thought of what she wanted). The twins, therefore, were acutely aware of just how frightening her sense of independence was, as well as how badly (for them) it combined with her new prowess with defensive spells.

"She's always had that. The rest of you blighters just never bothered to notice," Charlie said in amusement.

"Oh, don't get all high and mighty, Charlie," George told him. "You owe her one same as the rest of us."

"Yes, but at least my fault was accidental."

"Oh, yes. All hail Charlie, the brother who only tortures his sister _by accident_."

"At least we haven't got it as bad as Percy," Ron jumped in, trying to head off an argument.

All eyes turned to where their sister was ranting about their errant brother.

"True," sniggered George, "as soon as Perce shows his face, she's going to go off on him."

"S'true," added Fred, "he's going to owe her more peace favors than all the rest of us combined."

"Serves him right, the pillock," George muttered.

"Yeah, then Harry'll be the only one she's not mad at," Ron piped up in sudden realization. "Lucky bloke."

"Yes," said Fred, eyes hard, "lucky."

"For now," added George.

Ron glared at them. "Hey! What have you got against him all of the sudden anyway? You two have been right prats to him since you got here."

"Have you now?" said Charlie, eyeing them with sudden perception.

The twins glared back at him. "Don't go giving us that, Charlie. Bloke deserves it."

"Yeah! Right here in our own house? We're not standing for that!"

"He deserves no such thing."

"Shove off, Charlie," Fred growled.

"All right, fellows, that's enough," Bill told them firmly. And even though three of the four other men present were full adults, they all shut up out of habit. Several minutes later, Fred snickered quietly.

"All hail the oldest."

"King of the Weasley brothers!" George pitched in.

"Ruler of all brotherly disputes."

"Shut up, you lot," Bill muttered, "before I thrash you."

He may have stopped the twins' talking, but he could do nothing about the laughter from all four of his brothers.

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By the time a tearstained and ruffled Mrs. Weasley finally came out and called them all in for a late breakfast, Ginny had calmed down. Hermione had let her rant for a long time, pacing and throwing her hands in the air whenever she felt the need to shout a particular point at the sky, because Hermione understood that her friend needed to vent some of her anger and frustration. She knew Ginny was a little heartbroken at being rejected so violently by someone she had loved and trusted so well, and she used ranting as a method of working through that. But when Ginny had started repeating herself for the third time, Hermione had finally broken down and forced her to sit. By the time they were interrupted, Ginny was sitting quietly beside the older girl in the shade of a tree, looking disgruntled but listening to Hermione whenever she spoke and replying rationally.

Ginny felt this was quite an accomplishment on her part. She had been _very_ angry.

She and Hermione reached the door after Ginny's brothers and Ginny waved Hermione in ahead of her, leaving her alone with her mother, who was still holding the door open.

"I'm sorry I yelled, Mum, and that I talked to you like that. I was just so _angry_…but it's not your fault Percy's such a prat. I shouldn't have taken my anger out on you, and I shouldn't have said those things about Percy not being family…even if he deserved some of them," she told her mother, sincerely remorseful. She _had_ been angry…but it _wasn't_ her mother's fault. The only one who deserved to bear the brunt of her anger was her git of a brother…

Mrs. Weasley smiled a wavery smile and pulled her into a tight hug. "I'm sorry too, dear. I lost my head when I read that letter."

The two Weasley women smiled at one another and went inside arm-in-arm.

Breakfast was a very hurried affair. The argument (and the aftermath of it) had taken up most of their allotted decorating time, and the Weasleys had to eat quickly so that they could jump straight into their party preparations. They ran around madly for an hour afterwards, charming decorations to every available surface so that when Harry and Lupin finally arrived, the whole house (or at least the ground floor) was covered in streamers and edgings and banners and other decorations, all colored red and gold and charmed in all sorts of interesting ways.

"Wow," said Harry, stopping dead in the middle of the living room and doing a slow turn so he could see everything. He laughed when he spotted a bunch of balloons Fred and George had made. His face had been charmed to the front of each one, with a moving mouth and a speech bubble to one side in which various sayings appeared and disappeared ("I'm Harry Potter!" "Happy birthday to me!" "Spank me, it's my birthday!"—whenever this last appeared, Harry's picture would screw up into a terrified grimace).

"It looks like you've all been busy," said Lupin, admiring the decorations. Mrs. Weasley beamed at him.

Before very long, the house was filled with people. In addition to Hermione, Lupin and the Weasleys; Tonks, Mundungus Fletcher, and Kingsley Shacklebolt showed up to wish Harry a happy birthday (as they were all members of the Order, Ginny was surprised they somehow managed not to talk about business until after lunch, and even then it was it was only a few comments quietly exchanged as they were about to walk out the door). Hagrid stopped by on his way to run an errand for Dumbledore (who made a brief appearance himself) and Fleur Delacour, Bill's girlfriend, Flooed in just before dinner. Ginny was not at all happy when Fleur showed up, especially since she made straight for Harry as soon as she had brushed the soot from her clothes. Ginny thought several mean and terrible things about her as Fleur grabbed Harry's hands and enthusiastically leaned in to kiss his cheeks. "'Appy birthday, 'Arry!" she exclaimed as she greeted him, and then monopolized his attention for several minutes in which Ginny continued to glare at her back and think scathing thoughts from across the room. Fleur was too…too…too effervescent! Too "look at me!" And fluffy—there was nothing to her, no substance, no meaning! Honestly, why did men fall all over themselves at the sight of her? And she didn't care only because it was Harry the blond was currently gushing over either! She was sure she'd be just as upset if it were Ron!

She did feel a little relieved that Harry didn't seem terribly impressed with her. He flushed a little when she kissed him but otherwise talked and behaved normally—no untoward staring, no danger of drooling, no other Ron-around-Fleur-like symptoms in sight. And he didn't give her his trademark slow smile either. Still, she was inexplicably glad when Bill came back in from the kitchen. Fleur lit up at the sight of him (Ginny noticed Hermione's scowl at Ron's reaction to this) and flew to greet him. Ginny watched as her brother caught her up in his arms and twirled her around, kissing her in greeting and setting her down on her feet again. Neither of them noticed much of anybody else for a while. Ginny sighed. She didn't like Fleur much, but she supposed she would have to get used to the idea of having the irritating girl as part of the family. If she made Bill happy…her brother deserved to be happy. Even if it _was_ with that fluffy, flowery…

She caught Harry's eye from across the room and flushed when he raised a questioning eyebrow. She glanced at Fleur and Bill and then rolled her eyes at Harry. He must have understood, because his answering grin was patronizing. She glared playfully, then turned to Hermione. "He doesn't fancy her you know," she told the older girl, referring to Ron. "He just thinks she's pretty."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Hermione sniffed. "Although I would like to point out that _Harry_ doesn't loose his head whenever she comes into the room."

Ginny sighed. "Maybe it's a Weasley thing. I mean, look at Bill."

Hermione glanced past her at the corner where Bill and Fleur stood close, whispering together. "You think they're serious?"

"Yes," Ginny groaned.

Hermione laughed. "Poor Ginny. At least you'll have beautiful nieces and nephews!"

"Shut up."

Hermione just snickered. Ginny pretended to glare at her but she was glad Hermione was feeling better. _Ginny_ still wanted to poke Ron's eyes out for unintentionally hurting Hermione's feelings, but at least Hermione no longer did. The older girl wasn't used to the murderous urges Ginny's brothers tended to invoke in a person; she tended to feel bad after she wished death on Ron. Ginny grinned a secretive grin. If things worked according to Ginny's wishes, Hermione would get over that. She'd have to if she wanted to last in this family. And Ginny rather thought Hermione would be with the Weasleys a long, long time.

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After dinner (which was a family affair—all the other guests had gone home after lunch and cake were served), Harry was sat down in the living room and plied with gifts from the family. He was obviously a little overwhelmed by this, having never been exposed to the idea of a family birthday party wherein gifts were opened in front of a large group of people while said people watched (Harry had almost always been confined to his room on Dudley's birthday—with one obvious exception involving a zoo and a snake—and had certainly never received such a ceremony himself while living at the Dursley's), but Fred and George laughed at him and Ron told him to get over it and Bill dumped a box covered in shiny paper in his lap, and Harry soon seemed to forget his nervousness. Cautiously, he tore open the paper on the box from Bill.

It contained a comprehensive encyclopedia on curses, jinxes, hexes, and their counters. Ginny recognized it, although it was disguised to look like a common pocket notebook unless you opened it, because Bill had been carrying a copy with him as long as she could remember.

"It updates itself whenever new material is published on any of the subjects in there," Bill told him. "And they sell update charms for any new subjects for a pretty decent price. So you never have to buy another copy."

The twins gave him a trunk full of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes paraphernalia. Mrs. Weasley scolded them for this, asking what, exactly, they thought Harry was going to do with a trunk—"a _trunk_, I ask you!"—full of jokes at Hogwarts.

"Use 'em, hopefully," George muttered, which earned him a smack on the back of the head from his mother. Ginny did overhear Fred whispering to Harry that there were some things in that trunk they thought might actually be useful outside of pranks, and from the uncharacteristically serious look on his face, she had the feeling he meant Harry's seemingly unavoidable yearly clashes with Voldemort. She wondered when the twins had started working on things other than jokes for their shop and determined to ask about this later.

Charlie, the family-wide provider of dragon hide (much to their mother's dismay), had bought Harry a pair of thick dragon hide boots. "Thought they might be useful," he told him, ignoring the rather fierce look on his mother's face. "I have a pair just like them and they're surprisingly comfortable. They're durable enough to handle working with dragons, but flexible enough that I don't bother changing for pick-up Quidditch matches."

Bill leaned over to look at the boots. "Those like the ones you bought me, Charlie?"

"Yeah."

Bill nodded. "Love those things. Wear 'em all the time." He wiggled his feet to illustrate—a pair of slightly scuffed black boots covered his feet and legs to just below the knees. "They're naturally magic resistant, of course…but it doesn't hurt that they're stylish too."

Harry looked a little dubious—boots weren't normally his style—but then he toed his trainers off and gamely shoved his feet in. It didn't take him long to figure out how all the laces and straps worked, and when he'd put them on properly, he stood up to see how they fit. Charlie caught Ginny's eye while Harry was walking around the room in them. His smile was sly and self-satisfied. She narrowed her eyes at him. He'd done this on purpose! This is what she got for confiding her secret love of men in dragon hide boots to her brother. She'd been trying to pay him a compliment at the time because some girl he'd had his eye on had started dating one of the men from the nearby village. Ginny had tried to cheer him up by explaining that the girl was an idiot, and that most women would absolutely love a man who tromped around in dragon hide boots the way he did. (Because who didn't love a man in dragon hide? Those boots were hot.) Charlie hadn't much appreciated the implications—they were at the reserve at the time, and she might have been admiring one of the new interns (wearing a similar pair of boots) while she was explaining this gender-wide weakness. He'd sent her straight home that afternoon, much to her disappointment…and secret amusement. And yet here he was buying identical boots for Harry. She narrowed her eyes even further. If he was trying to prove a point here, he was going to fail miserably. How many times did she have to tell him before it would sink through that thick stupid skull of his? She did not fancy Harry Potter—not even a disgustingly attractive Harry Potter in dragon hide boots! So there!

When Harry sat down again, he tucked his trainers into the box the boots had come in (Charlie's smile by this time was triumphant. Bill was looking smug enough that Ginny thought he might have had a hand in the boot idea as well. He was edgy enough to have suggested them to Charlie, who would have run with the idea…for several reasons), and moved on to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's gift.

Mrs. Weasley, who was not fond of the increasing amount of dragon hide apparel to be fond among her children's closets and so was not happy about the latest addition to her adoptive son's wardrobe, was still casting occasional disapproving looks at the boots on Harry's feet when it came time to present the gift she and Mr. Weasley had bought but she smiled and handed the package over with convincing enthusiasm just the same. It was a very small wizarding radio. Ginny and Ron had suggested the gift when Mrs. Weasley had asked what they thought Harry might like because they knew he was woefully uninformed about wizarding music and looking to remedy that lack of knowledge. Radios were fairly inexpensive (though out of Ginny's and Ron's price ranges) but extremely diverse and versatile. Harry's new radio was red and gold to match his house colors (since it would be living there) and he loved it.

Ron's gift, which was next, was a subscription to Harry's favorite Quidditch magazine. Ron was a little embarrassed that it was only for six months—he'd not been able to afford more—and turned a bit red about the ears when he explained the limited subscription to his friend but Harry was so thrilled with the gift that Ron quickly relaxed. Hermione's gift was next, and Harry was every bit as enthusiastic about the broom polish as Ginny had predicted he would be (she and Hermione shared an amused look over Harry's bent head while he was busy exclaiming over it), though he was obviously a little perplexed by the stationary. (Although he seemed amused by its Quidditch themed logoing. He and Ron immediately set about thinking up ingenious uses for it once they got back to school. Hermione opened her mouth to protest this, then threw her hands up in—completely unnoticed by the boys—exasperation and gave up, which made Ginny snicker quietly.)

Finally, Harry came to Ginny's present (and she was not particularly happy hers was last. For some reason this embarrassed her). He tore back the wrapping with no more or less enthusiasm than he'd shown for any other present, but slowed down the moment he caught sight of just what it was (the way he had for all the gifts he'd been particularly happy about, she noticed, pleased). A wide grin instantly spread across his face.

"Hey thanks, Gin! A Puddlemere poster!"

"Puddlemere?" Ron shot his sister an exasperated look. "Ginny, you can't go buying other people posters of your favorite team," he told her. "You're supposed to buy them posters of _their_ favorite team."

Harry paused in freeing the last of the paper from Ginny's gift to look at the youngest Weasley. "Puddlemere is your favorite team?"

"Since I was five."

"Charlie got her going on them," Ron told him absently. "Wait. You didn't know that already? Then why were you so excited about the poster? I thought you were just humoring her."

"_I_ like Puddlemere, Ron," Harry admitted a little reluctantly.

"I _knew_ you were just—Wait." Ron looked up with dawning realization. "What? Since when?"

"For awhile now," Harry told him sheepishly. "I've been following them since beginning of third year."

"How?"

"Erm. Well, I was staying at The Leaky Cauldron half the summer, you remember. I spent a lot of time in Quality Quidditch, picked up a few magazines…I even listened to a couple matches on the wireless. I guess that's what did it, really."

"They didn't even do well that summer!" Ron looked scandalized.

"I know," Harry agreed, chagrinned.

"Ugh," Charlie protested from the sofa. "Don't remind me."

"I thought you liked the Cannons, like me." Ron muttered, feeling somewhat betrayed and glaring at his best friend.

"Sorry, Ron," Harry told him.

Ron huffed. "Whatever."

Harry smiled at him brightly. "At least we won't be bored at Quidditch matches," he said.

"What do you mean?" Ron was still glaring.

Harry considered his friend, a competitive gleam in his eye. "We'll just work up a friendly rivalry. You'll cheer for your team, I'll cheer for mine; loser buys the first butterbeer after the game, no harm done." Ginny snickered behind her hand. She didn't know what Hermione had been so worried about, Harry knew how to handle her brother very well.

Ron shrugged but his gaze was measuring. "Sure," he said, and his tone said Harry's team didn't stand a chance.

Harry just grinned.

"Hey, are those chocolate Snitches?" Fred tugged the package of sweets from Harry's lax grip and flipped it over. "Sure enough. That's good luck."

"Chocolate Snitches?" Harry asked. "What are those?"

"Your birthday present, apparently," Fred told him. "You were holding them not two seconds ago."

"I only just finished unwrapping them, Fred," said Harry with a wry grin. Fred rolled his eyes and tossed them back. Harry caught them easily.

"You'll like those," Ron told him. "They're loads of fun. Who're they from?"

"Ginny. They move? The package makes it look like they move."

"Yeah, they're charmed. Kind of like Chocolate Frogs," said Ron.

"They…hop?"

Hermione laughed. "They fly. The charm wears off eventually, but Ginny seemed to have fun chasing them around when I got her some last year."

Ginny's smile was sly. "Drove the other girls in my dorm mad. It was wicked fun." She shrugged. "I thought you might enjoy them too."

Harry grinned at her. "They're great. Thanks, Gin."

The rest of the evening was spent chatting and laughing and playing with Harry's new possessions. The twins surprised everyone by pulling out a set of miniaturized fireworks they had created for the occasion (charmed for safe, fireproof use inside a house since outdoor fireworks at The Burrow might attract Muggle attention), and they were set off in a wash of sparks. Soon the living room was full of light—pinwheels and starbursts and flower shapes and multicolored planets and little tiny galaxies mixed in with red and gold Gryffindor lions, fluttering snitches, life-sized Hungarian Horntails (the twins thought it was hilarious when the first of these had Harry jumping out of his seat) and portraits of Harry (of which everyone's favorite was a large, bright image of Harry chasing after and stomping on a miniature—and grossly cartoonized—image of Voldemort). Shouts and cheers accompanied each new tiny eruption.

Some time during the show, Ginny noticed that Harry had disappeared. She had half expected him to do something of the sort all day, thinking it would probably be pretty hard to go through a day as full of people he loved as this one had been without noticing the hole left by Sirius's absence. Harry had been gone for a while. Long enough, she thought, to recognize the hole and mourn over it. She rather thought he might have reached the point where he'd welcome some company. So she went looking for him.

It took her awhile to find him but eventually Ginny thought to check the front porch. It was quiet there, secluded, but close enough to the house that he could still hear the people he considered family talking and laughing inside and feel connected to them. If he wasn't there, she thought, if he hadn't wanted that connection, she'd check down by the pond. But she rather thought she was right about the porch.

And that was where she found him, sitting quietly on the steps and staring up at the darkened sky. He looked for all the world like he was watching the stars come out.

Ginny doubted he'd even noticed them.

She shut the door quietly behind herself. "Do you mind?" she asked softly as she sat down beside him. She trusted Harry to tell her if he still wanted to be alone.

He shook his head.

Ginny took a deep breath and then let it out in a sigh. The stairs they sat on were rather narrow and her shoulder touched his, pressing against the fabric of her sleeve as she crossed her arms over her raised knees and put her chin on her arms. She shivered at the contact, blushed a little in the dark, but didn't move away.

"Cold?" he asked her, voice quiet in the night. She shook her head even though the night air _was_ a little cool on her skin; words felt oddly inappropriate. He shifted beside her, mimicking her position, and the length of his arm, warm and solid, pressed against hers from shoulder to elbow. She blushed again but didn't move away from that either and they slipped into companionable silence.

She watched the last strip of dusky dark blue on the edge of the horizon fade silently away to black and tilted her head back to count the stars.

They'd been sitting there maybe ten or fifteen minutes when Harry finally spoke.

"I don't mean to do it you know." His voice was quiet, low, like he thought maybe words were an intrusion too.

She shifted her gaze from the sky to his face, studied his profile. "Do what?" she murmured back.

"Make everyone worry." She held her breath, trying to think of something to say, but he continued. "I've noticed the looks." His mouth twisted in a wry smile. "I guess I've been pretty quiet, huh?" He turned his head to look at her.

"A bit," she agreed. "But no one begrudges you a little quiet time to think." He raised a disbelieving eyebrow, and she smiled. "Summer seems to be the only time you ever really get a break," she told him gently.

He sighed at that, something dark flickering briefly behind his eyes, and she knew she'd guessed right that there was something going on. Something Voldemort related. "I just don't like to worry anyone. Especially your mum."

She swayed toward him then, briefly leaning her weight against the place where their shoulders met—a firm, comforting pressure—and rested her cheek against his arm. "No one is upset about it Harry. Just a little concerned." She grinned, sat up. "You're family. They can't help it."

Harry chuckled then sighed. "I've just had a lot on my mind lately. And then with Sirius gone…" He stretched his legs out a bit, rested his forearms on his knees. "I just miss him is all. Today more than most."

She didn't know what to say to that. What do you say to someone who's lost the closest thing to a father he's ever known?

Ginny took his hand and held it tight. For once, she didn't question why she did it, or what it meant, she just let herself enjoy it.

They sat there for a long time wordlessly watching the stars, the weight of his hand warm in hers.

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So, when I started this story, I thought it would be quick: five or six chapters and an epilogue and then it would be done—little more than half the length of SS. But somehow Ginny, sneaky thing that she is, keeps running away with the story. "Add this," she says. "And this, and this and this!" Every time I get the remainder of the story outlined, she pops into my head with a whole slew of new situations, events and strange happenings. Like this chapter, which, originally, was supposed to be about a paragraph long in the middle of a completely different chapter.

So now we are up to chapter seven (a chapter longer than I ever thought this would be) and I'm afraid we still have a rather long way to go with this story. I know that's frustrating, what with my super slow updates (except for this one! Four weeks, yeah! *Insert super happy victory dance here*), but I thought I should warn you…This one'll be alive and kicking for quite some time yet. There are at least five or six more chapters coming…and those are just the ones I already have tentatively planned. Who knows what else Ginny will shove in there? (This is a very busy summer for her!) I'll try to have chapter eight up in another four weeks at the most (wouldn't that be wondrous?); until then R&R!


	8. Duty Deflection

Antithesis

Disclaimer: I don't own anything even remotely related to Harry Potter, except a little bit of merchandise. The characters, world, ideas, etc. belong to that wonderful J.K. Rowling and the WB movie people.

Notes: Well, I realize this is much later (by a couple of months) than I intended it to be, but it was unavoidable. That real-life thing took over again. However, I have been doing a lot of writing and outlining in that time (although nothing I could complete an post; I know, I should have, I'm sorry!) and have come to realize that this is going to be a looooooong story. I have five more chapters at least partly written, and one-line descriptions done for another six possible chapters (although some of those may be combined into one; sometimes I do that)! So I'm going to guesstimate an ending length of 20 chapters for this thing, including the epilogue. But we'll see. Ginny often runs away with me and adds things…or changes them…or takes them out again…

_This_ chapter was supposed to be another two-thirds this length, but after finishing this section, I realized it stood better alone. I figure I've made you all wait long enough for an update anyway so…here it is. Seven or so pages of fun! Enjoy!

**Chapter Eight: Duty Deflection**

It was two days after Harry's birthday party and Harry, Ron, and Hermione were missing again.

Ginny wasn't particularly surprised. They hadn't run off together in a couple of days, so she was sure they had been missing their "just us" time. That and they'd been shooting covert glances back and forth all day yesterday. They were clearly overdue for a "let's talk about serious stuff" meeting.

The problem was that Mrs. Weasley was in one of her "let's clean the house" moods (the post-Harry's-birthday-party cleanup they'd done yesterday having apparently sparked her interest in a sparkling clean house), and Ginny really didn't want to clean. Or trim the hedges. Or weed the flowerbeds. Or, or, or. So when Mrs. Weasley got to wondering where the future savior of the wizarding world (and company) had got off to, Ginny promptly volunteered to go find them. This was a task often assigned to Ginny anyway, since she was more familiar with the trio's favorite haunts than anyone else in the family, so Mrs. Weasley didn't think twice about agreeing and sent her daughter off on her new errand with a brief message for the missing party.

Which meant, Ginny happily concluded, that she was pretty much free from chores for the morning. Mrs. Weasley tended to let the trio escape from her chore assignments whenever they slipped off to have what she termed their "friend time." Harry, the poor dear, had been through so much in the last year or so, and he'd been so quiet this summer, that Mrs. Weasley figured he needed cheering up. Time spent with Ron and Hermione was just the pleasant distraction he needed, and so she stubbornly persisted in believing that that's all there was to the trio's frequent disappearances. (How everyone in the house managed to miss the fact that the three were still conducting "important meetings" amongst all their "friend time," Ginny just didn't know.) The advantage of all this for Ginny was that as long as she could stick with Harry, Ron, and Hermione this morning, the longer she would avoid doing chores herself.

Normally that might make her feel a little guilty (although not guilty enough that she wouldn't take advantage of the opportunity), but there were still so many people in the house (who hadn't been doing regular household chores the last few weeks like she had, since most of them didn't technically live at the Burrow anymore) that she didn't feel bad at all. Let her brothers do some of the work for once.

This plan only worked, however, if she could find the objects of her search. And she was having significant trouble doing so. Which was unusual. And frankly making her nervous…the longer it took her to find them, the more obscure the places she was forced to look. And the more obscure the place, the more likely it was she would find them mid-serious discussion. Which she wouldn't be able to interrupt. Which would foil her plan. And also make her feel really awkward and uncomfortable. She always wanted to know what the trio was planning when they got down to serious anti-Voldemort action (so that she could offer—and then force them to accept—her help), but she knew the discussions this summer were all speculative—no serious planning was taking place, no battle strategy was in the works, no recent threats to their lives to be avoided—which meant that her presence for such discussions was not only unwanted but also unnecessary. She really didn't want to intrude.

She found them eventually, out by the pond. In retrospect, she wasn't sure why that hadn't been the first place she'd looked. It seemed to be their favorite place to retreat. But they hadn't been in their usual spot under a tree on the near side, which was visible from the kitchen window, so she had dismissed the pond and searched the house and yard thoroughly before giving up and leaving the yard by the back gate to check the far shore of the pond and the surrounding woods. If they _were_ having one of their serious discussions, they may have opted to go further from the house than usual…

But, she was surprised to find, they weren't having a serious discussion at all. In fact, they looked relaxed, all tangled together at the base of a huge maple tree right near the water's edge. Harry was leaning back against the tree trunk, Hermione slumped against his shoulder with Ron's head in her lap, her fingers tangled up in the thick strands of his hair. Hermione looked to be asleep between her two best friends and if Ron and Harry were awake, they weren't talking, or else they were doing it so softly that the sound of it didn't carry across the relatively short distance between where Ginny stood and where they sprawled beneath the tree. Ginny paused when she spotted them, tilting her head at the rare sight. She was probably the only person who was close to all three members of the "Golden Trio" and she was pretty sure she'd never seen them quite so relaxed before.

She felt a pang in her heart at the thought, and at that moment she wasn't sure if it was because they only relaxed like that when the three of them were alone, or if it was because they just never really got a chance to relax like that period.

Ginny shuffled forward a few steps. She didn't want to disturb them when they all looked so peaceful but she had a message to deliver…and if Ron was asleep, he ought to be made to move soon—the sun was creeping across the ground toward him, and he burned easily. Still, she was reluctant to interrupt what she was sure was a rare, and therefore treasured, morning of solitary relaxation and had almost decided to turn around and go back to the house when Harry called her name softly.

Ginny froze, only now noticing that both Harry and Ron were looking at her, watching her approach. "Um, hi," she answered, wondering what had alerted them to her presence and if they were angry at the intrusion. Harry smiled, a lazy sort of smile, and motioned her closer with the arm that wasn't supporting Hermione's head. Ginny approached slowly, feeling horribly out of place, and silently berated herself for not heading back to the house the moment she saw them all laying there.

"Did you need something?" Harry asked quietly when she was close enough to hear him easily. _Trying not to wake Hermione_, she realized.

Ginny shook her head. "Mum was wondering where you three had gotten off to with lunch so soon and she was handing out chores like they were candy, so I volunteered to come find you…" she trailed off. It was on the tip of her tongue to apologize for disturbing them when Harry grinned at her, effectively freezing her in place. Well, maybe not quite frozen; her heart and lungs seemed to be rather over-active at the moment actually, but her tongue _was_ stuck to the roof of her mouth at the very least so…

"Well, then," Harry was saying, "you'll just have to stay here with us."

"What?" she finally managed to get out.

Ron grinned up at her too. The expression looked odd because he was looking at her upside down, tilting his head back in Hermione's lap in order to see her without dislodging Hermione's lax fingers from his hair. "Why do you think we're out here?" he asked, following Harry's example and keeping his voice to just above a whisper.

"Uhhh…" Ginny felt disconcerted and was having a little trouble following. This was not how she had expected them to behave. Curious, maybe; irritated, obviously; but easy acceptance? That was unexpected.

"We're hiding out, of course," Harry answered for her.

"That's unlike you, Harry," she told him, because he usually volunteered to help out with household chores. Forgetting her trepidation for a moment, she gave him a shrewd look and caught the quick glance he exchanged with her brother. Yep, they'd definitely been having one of their serious discussions at some point this morning. She sighed. "Never mind. Listen, lunch is in an hour; if you're late, Mum will skin all of you. Or feed your share to the twins, either one." She turned to leave. "Try not to fall asleep out here, Ron," she threw back over her shoulder. "You really are going to burn."

"Hey, where are you going?" Harry asked, raising his voice just a little to get her attention.

"Back to the house?"

"With Mum assigning chores?" Ron questioned.

"Well I didn't want to interrupt…"

Harry and Ron both gave her confused looks. "Interrupt what?" Harry asked.

Ginny shook her head. "Your relaxation time," she told them hesitantly. "You don't get to do this sort of thing very often so…" she trailed off at the thoroughly uncomprehending looks on their faces.

"I don't get it," said Ron.

"Did you come out here to give us chores?" asked Harry.

"No."

"Then why would you be interrupting?"

"I don't know!" Ginny only just remembered to keep her voice down. She was blushing, although she really didn't know why, and was feeling really confused. Why didn't they think she was interrupting? Because she was…wasn't she?

"The only thing interrupting my relaxation time is this conversation," said Ron. "It's stressing me out." Her brother blinked up at her, upside down, head still pillowed in Hermione's lap. "Come sit down, Gin," he told her, patting the empty space beside him.

Still feeling awkward, Ginny hesitated. "Are you sure?"

Harry stared at her, obviously trying to come up with something suitably reassuring to say. Ron, on the other hand, gave her an exasperated look (which lost some of its effectiveness due to the comic position he was in). "Is this one of those stupid girly insecure moments?" he asked shrewdly.

"_What?_" she hissed, furious and embarrassed all at once. Of all the times for Ron to be observant…

Her brother continued as if she hadn't spoken. "Hermione's like that too. 'Are you boys sure I'm not interrupting? I mean, don't you need boy time or something?' It's ridiculous."

"Hermione?" Ginny asked, shocked. "But…but she's your best friend! You're all so close!"

"Well, and what are you?"

"What?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "You're Hermione's best girl friend," he told her. "And my sister, Gin."

"And I don't have very many close friends," Harry added, " but I wouldn't spend near so much time with you if you weren't one of them."

Ginny gaped.

"Oh, come on!" Ron muttered and scowled at her. "This _can't_ be news to you."

She just stared at them. Ron made a frustrated noise and threw a helpless glance at Harry. Harry just blinked and motioned with his head to the space Ron had indicated earlier.

"Come sit down, Ginny," he told her. "Relax with us for awhile."

"…Okay."

She sat in the space between her brother and the tree and awkwardly plucked a few pieces of grass from the ground, twirling them between her fingers. After several minutes of uncomfortable shifting while the boys picked up their conversation (apparently where they'd left off when she'd approached), Ginny mentally rolled her eyes at herself and threw the handful of grass back to the ground. Dusting her hands off, she twisted around where she sat so that her back was to Ron and the pond and let herself fall backwards.

The boys paused in their conversation while she got situated, resting her head on her brother's shoulder and snagging the book Hermione had apparently discarded (or accidentally dropped) when she'd fallen asleep earlier. There was some quiet snickering while Ginny examined the novel in her hands, but she ignored it. Realizing this was Hermione's copy of the book she'd bought for Ginny on their trip to Diagon Alley, Ginny flipped through the pages until she found where she'd left off, and began to read. Some more snickering followed her actions, and a few pointed comments about over-zealous students who studied during the summer ("It's a _novel_, Ron," she muttered distractedly), and then the boys went back to their previous conversation.

Ginny relaxed to the sound of their voices and lost herself in the story's plotline.

"Well, you all look cozy," said Charlie cheerfully when he came upon them sometime later. He gave Ginny a knowing look, which she didn't understand because it was Ron she was laying on, and there was no way any of this could be taken as compromising or embarrassing in the least.

"Bugger off," muttered Ron, blushing. That made Ginny grin. Ron scowled at her when he noticed it, and she leaned over to kiss his cheek sweetly before shifting off his shoulder and sitting up.

"What are you doing out here, Charlie?" she asked him, looking up at her second oldest brother. She grinned impishly. "Are trying to get out of doing chores too?"

"No," he told her, his tone reprimanding but his expression amused. "It's time for lunch. Mum sent me out to find you when none of you showed up."

Ginny blinked. "Ooops."

"Uh-huh." He grinned at her. "Did you even remember you had a message to deliver?"

"I delivered it!" she said, indignant. "But after that I just…"

"Got distracted?" Charlie wore an innocent expression, but his eyes were wicked and laughing.

She glared at him, narrowing her eyes even further when she felt her face heat up at the insinuation. "By a book and a quiet morning off chores, yes," she growled in reply, climbing stiffly to her feet. _I was _not _distracted by Harry! Don't think I don't know what you're implying, you git of a brother…_

"We were all distracted. That's why we're still here," Harry said then, thankfully too distracted by his attempts to wake Hermione to notice the silent battle occurring just a few feet away (or the furious blush coloring Ginny's face). Ron, however, was sitting up now and looking back and forth between them, confused. When he opened his mouth (to ask about it, Ginny guessed), his sister jumped in quickly to fill the silence and distract him.

"Well, Hermione's waking up now," she declared, because the older girl was stirring under Harry's prodding and blinking open sleepy eyes, "and I'm starving! Let's go eat."

"Yeah," Ron agreed, mind switching gears at the mention of food, "let's go before Mum really does give all our food to the twins. Prats would probably eat it all too," he added under his breath.

Ginny breathed a sigh of relief at so narrowly averting a surefire disaster and held out a hand to help Ron up. He took it but nearly pulled her over instead when he climbed to his feet. "Oof!" she said, when the force of their movements caused her stomach to collide with his elbow. Well, at least he was on his feet. She rubbed her abdomen and mock glared at him. "When did you get so heavy?"

"It's probably all that food he shovels away at meals," Charlie speculated. "It's amazing he's not heavier than he is."

"I'm a growing boy," Ron told them with a sniff, dusting his pants off. Ginny reached out to pick the grass off his back. "I can't help that I need to eat."

Ginny snickered, finished with his shirt, and stepped back to look him over. "Ron" she snickered, "your hair's a mess."

"What?"

"It's sticking up all over the place. What did you do, get in a fight with Crookshanks?" she teased, as if she didn't know it was because he'd let Hermione fall asleep playing with his hair. Ron just muttered to himself as he tried to flatten it. She made an impatient sound with her tongue against the roof of her mouth and waved his hands away. "Here let me."

Ron heaved a long-suffering sigh, but held still while his sister reached up to fix his hair. "You gonna help Harry too?" he asked, irritated, when she was almost finished. "His hair looks pretty messy."

Ginny looked over at Harry, who had been snickering with Hermione at the siblings' antics but was now looking at her intently. She felt rather warm under his stare but stuffed the feeling down under a guise of playful confidence. She tilted her head and eyed Harry's messy hair critically. Then she sighed regretfully and shook her head.

"I'm afraid not," she said, remorseful. "Even I can't do anything with this mess." She tugged on a lock of thick black hair playfully and Harry batted her hand away with feigned indignance. Ginny laughed, delighted to have the upper hand for once. "Do you even own a comb?" she asked, teasing.

Harry scowled. "Yes, I do," he sniffed. "My hair just has a strong sense of…independence and a style all its own."

"You're calling that a style now?" Hermione asked, arching a brow.

"Are you sure you own a comb?" Ron asked thoughtfully. "I can't remember the last time I saw you with one…"

"I hate you all," said Harry darkly. "I'm going to go eat lunch now, and when I get there, _I'm_ going to eat all of your shares."

Ginny snickered. "Oh, Harry come on, don't be like that," she coaxed, trotting after him. "We all love your hair! It's…unique!"

Harry growled a response, and Ginny laughed, linking her arm thoughtlessly through his, completely unaware of the satisfaction on Hermione's face, the confusion growing once again on Ron's, or the warring sadness and acceptance on Charlie's as the three trailed after the youngest Weasley and her dark haired companion.

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	9. Burdensome Brothers

Antithesis

Disclaimer: I don't own anything even remotely related to Harry Potter, except a little bit of merchandise. The characters, world, ideas, etc. belong to that wonderful J.K. Rowling and the WB movie people.

Notes: Okay, so I was going through my review page for Antithesis, replying to reviews from chapter 8, and I came to a realization…I have been working on this story for four freaking years! Oh. My. Gosh! What is the matter with me? I am soooooooo sorry guys. Somewhere between graduating from college and job searching and starting life really, I managed to get distracted enough that I've hardly been writing. For those of you who have followed this all that time (if there are any of you still left…) you are amazing. I fall to my knees before you and beg for forgiveness.

That being said, I think I should add that however long it takes me to finish this (hopefully not too long!) I _will _finish it. I know people say that and then don't…but believe me, I'm not one of them. The fact that I am, in fact, still working on this four years later should be testament to that…right? Anyway, my dear patient (and not so patient) readers, this chapter is for you. I had so much fun writing it, it might actually be my new favorite! So here it is…

And after only one week too!

**Chapter Nine: Burdensome Brothers, **

Ginny bent over with her hands on her knees and gasped for breath. Her legs and lungs were burning and she could feel sweat pouring down her temples and sticking the fabric of her shirt to the skin of her back.

"Walk it off or you'll only get stiff," Bill commanded mercilessly from the porch chair he'd dragged out to relax in while he watched her work. Ginny mustered up the energy to glare at him, then forced her legs into compliance. She felt a little shaky but her breathing was already easing. She pulled the front of her tank top away from her skin, fanning herself with one hand and tiredly marveling at how hot she felt, even in tank top and shorts with her hair pulled up in a ponytail to keep it off her neck. She hated running.

"Tell me again why I'm doing this?" she demanded when she could speak again.

"You wanted to learn defensive magic, and you were out of shape."

"Yeah, but I thought this exercise thing was only supposed to last until I was up to speed on my dodging, feinting, and stance. Remember that? And I've been doing great on all that!"

"There's always room for improvement. Your stance is excellent, I'll admit, but you could be faster in the 'dodge and feint' department."

"I am fast!"

"I said you could be fast_er_."

She huffed at him.

"Besides," he added, "we're focusing on endurance now, remember? That's what the running is for."

Ginny sighed. "I know. I just hate running. I've always hated running. Even when I'm doing it for Quidditch."

"Lazy," Bill teased.

"It runs in the family." She gave a pointed look to where he lay sprawled in his stolen porch chair. He just grinned up at her.

"Feeling better yet?"

"Yes," she sighed.

"Good! Dueling drills!"

Ginny bit back a groan and obeyed. She might not be so fond of the exercise portion of learning defensive magic, but she couldn't deny it was producing results. She was much better at this than she had been when they'd started, and had been picking up on some of the charms Bill had been teaching her much faster because of it too.

Much as she might whine and complain, Ginny knew that if she had to make the choice again, even knowing how much exercise she would be forced into, she would still ask Bill to teach her this stuff. She'd meant what she'd said to Bill that day: a field medic's position wasn't a safe one, and she wanted to be able to defend herself. What good was a medic if they wound up needing one themselves?

So she got up at six every morning and ran three miles and practiced dueling drills regardless of whether or not they were having a training session that day. Days like today were a bit more challenging though, both because Bill had decided against running with her this morning (and was instead sitting in that stupid chair and mocking her with his inactivity) and because there was still an entire training session to get through after all this exercise.

When she had finally finished her drills (interspersed with frequent comments and corrections from her older brother), they finally got down to the business of spell-work. Charlie had received word the previous evening that Ginny was to be allowed to accompany Charlie for a day when he went back to work at the reserve, so Bill began their session by reviewing the Extinguishing spell and the Flame-Freezing charm.

"Really, Bill?" she asked, when Bill requested a repeat performance of the latter. "Isn't it rather obvious this isn't necessary?" It should have been, since she was safely standing in the middle of the bonfire he'd conjured, feeling nothing worse than a slight tickle from the warm breeze the fire generated after her charm-work.

"You attract trouble, Gin," Bill told her, snickering when the flames surrounding her warped the glare she shot him. "Better safe than sorry. I'd hate to see you charred to death when I could have helped prevent it."

"I'm not going to get burned by a dragon, Bill. You're being overly dramatic. Besides these charms are easy," she told him, rolling her eyes.

Surprisingly, Bill acquiesced and they moved on to reviewing other spells: the Repelling spell, the Imperturbable charm, and several other Defensive charms Bill had dug up and taught to her during past sessions. When he was satisfied that she could perform each adequately, they went back over shield charms, which she was just starting to get the hang of, and the Messenger charm, which the Order used to communicate via Patronus messages. (The moment Bill realized she could produce a corporeal Patronus he had started her learning that one. Ginny had been excited, both because it gave her a chance to practice her Patronus and because it was an extremely useful spell, something she would use not only in the Order—when she joined it—but also in the field.)

Finally, when he felt she'd made significant headway on both of those, Bill called a halt to their session. "Next time we'll start on the Homorphus charm," he told her. "I think you're advanced enough to tackle that one."

"Really?"

"Yeah. We'll begin with pronunciation and wand movements (Ginny groaned) and then we'll start work on casting the session after that. In the meantime," he added, producing a sheaf of papers from the ground beneath his chair, "I want you to read up on werewolves, their behavior, and the purpose, effects, and side effects of the Homorphus charm."

Ginny groaned even louder at this, but she didn't really mind. The background information he gave her to study before she learned each spell was actually really interesting, and sometimes it even contained obscure uses and techniques that she thought might be helpful in an actual battle or duel. Plus, they really did help her understand better how each spell worked when she actually began learning to cast it. She just wished she didn't have so much regular summer school work on top of all this extra-curricular studying she was doing. It made for a whole lot less time to be lazy than she liked.

"It's not that bad," Bill told her, tugging on a strand of hair that had come loose from her ponytail. "Come on, let's head back up to the house. I bet it's getting close to breakfast, there might be bacon we can steal," he tempted, lifting the chair he'd borrowed and preceding her up the walk.

Ginny rolled the packet up and smacked his retreating hand with it lightly, grinning as she fell into step beside him. "Good idea. I am _so_ hungry!"

Bill laughed. "You always say that."

"That's because it's always true! This stuff really works up an appetite! But I really want a shower first," she added, "so we'll have to snack fast or I won't have time to take one and be done getting ready before Mum serves breakfast."

"I'm glad you mentioned the shower," Bill told her solemnly, wrinkling his nose and opening the back gate for her, "because I didn't want to have to…"

"Prat!" she gasped, hitting him in the arm with the papers (and not bothering to hold back on the swing this time).

"Ouch! Ginny!"

"Baby! You deserve it!" She whacked him again. "I can't believe you said that. As if you weren't the one who ordered me to get all sweaty and stinky!" She hit him a third time.

"Stop hitting me, you abusive little pest!" Bill protested, laughing and ducking away from her swinging arm.

"Hey, what's going on out here?"

Ginny and Bill, distracted by the voice, left off their arguing and turned as one towards the open back door. Charlie wrinkled his nose as he examined his siblings, eyes lingering on Ginny's mussed hair and sweaty workout clothes. "Gin, _what_ have you been up to? Do you know you're out in public where _anyone_ could see you?" The wicked gleam in his eye and the way he stressed the word "anyone" told her he really meant one person in particular, one black-haired bespectacled person named Harry, and it made her clench her jaw in irritation.

"And what's wrong with how I look?" Ginny asked, a dangerous glint in her eye.

"Nothing," Charlie answered, expression innocent. "Now hurry up and go take a shower before _anyone_ gets up and sees you like that."

Bill flinched when their baby sister growled, and minced up the steps toward his brother. "Just shut up and back away slowly," he muttered from the side of his mouth. "She's feeling particularly violent today."

"Already?" Charlie murmured back. "What'd you do to her out there? And did you _know_ you'd kept her out this late? Usually you have her back up to the house with enough time that no one has to see her like this…or smell her."

"Gaaaah!" Ginny let out an inarticulate screech and stalked up the porch steps, swinging her paper roll back and forth to clear the way and hopefully punish a brother or two. Unfortunately, the laughing pair jumped back out of her path and maneuvered around to the opposite end of the kitchen before she could land a blow. Snarling, Ginny marched after them, smacked each on the back of the head with the papers, and stubbornly whirled away to grab one of the small breakfast pastries her mother had already set out on the counter.

Mrs. Weasley, well-used to scenes such as this, ignored the noise in favor of stirring a pan of gravy. But when her daughter turned away from the pastries, danish in hand and noisily chewing the first bite, she did edge the bacon plate closer so that she could also pretend not to notice Ginny stealing a piece. (Ginny was gratified to see her mother scowl in warning when Bill and Charlie started forward as if to copy her. Apparently Mrs. Weasley had overheard their less than complimentary comments outside.)

Thus fortified (at least until it was really breakfast time), Ginny made her way towards the door, intent on getting clean and making herself presentable before anyone (and that meant anyone, Charlie, not _anyone_ specific!) saw her like that.

Which was when Ron came into the kitchen, followed closely by Fred and George (fortunately without _anyone_ else following after them).

"Pew, Gin!" Ron said, making a face and waving one hand in front of his nose as though to ward off the smell. "Don't you think you should go shower or something? You're stinking up the kitchen!"

"Ooo! Before you go, can you come over here?" Fred asked eagerly. Then, to George, "Are you carrying any of those collection vials on you? This is perfect!"

"Yeah, that's just the scent we've been looking for for those stink pellets we've been working on," George replied, searching his pockets. "They _have_ been missing something…"

Ginny whimpered and let her head hang dejectedly. "I _hate_ having brothers," she muttered. "Not a single one of them is worth this." She turned to her mother. "_Why_ wasn't I born an only child?" she lamented.

"Well, we tried, dear," Molly told her placidly, "but it took us six attempts before we came up with you. I've always blamed your father."

Ginny was sweaty, dirty, and covered in grass stains, still dressed in her workout clothes and altogether _gross. _But as she stood there in that kitchen, sharing a wicked smile with her mum amidst the loudly disbelieving protests of her brothers, Ginny felt exceedingly, inexplicably precious. Loved.

Molly's smile turned sweet. "Hermione's in the shower at the moment, I believe," she told her daughter, "but your father's already left for work, so you can use the one in my bedroom if you'd like. My extra bathrobe is hanging in the armoire on the far left side."

Ginny grinned in relief. "Thanks, Mum," she said, offering a brief kiss to her mother's rounded cheek.

"Of course, dear," Molly replied, cupping her daughter's face with one hand. "We girls have to stick together."

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Unsurprisingly (considering how unusually warm she'd been during that morning's workout), it turned out to be a particularly hot day. Ginny had managed to sneak in and out of the shower without further mishap, and after breakfast opted to spend her morning studying the information Bill had passed on to her in her room upstairs. By the time she was finished it was after lunch and the temperatures were still climbing. Outside, that is. Inside, the house was cool and dry—cool enough that Ginny was comfortably dressed in a light jumper over an old Weird Sisters t-shirt that had once belonged to Fred or George (she couldn't remember which) when they were younger. It had been a well-loved shirt even before she'd inherited it, and was now so worn that the dark blue had faded to a sort of bluish-gray and the fabric was soft and fraying at the edges.

Lunch that day had been an informal thing, and Ginny had decided to eat hers (a small sandwich with a side of apple) on a plate in her room so that she could finish studying. When she was both finished eating and reading, she took her empty plate down to the kitchen where she found her mother finishing up the other lunch dishes. Ginny quickly washed and dried her own plate, then offered to help he mother finish cleaning up. About the time she was putting the last glass away in its cupboard, she noticed how quiet the house was.

"Where is everybody?"

"Down by the pond, dearest. Didn't they tell you?"

"I think so." Now that she mentioned it, Ginny could vaguely recall Hermione coming up and saying something about going out, but Ginny had been so focused she hadn't really heard her. "Hmm. I think I'll head down there too."

"Here, take this with you." Molly quickly put together a tray filled with glasses and a pitcher of iced lemonade. "Ron was up asking after some earlier; I was just getting ready to take it down myself, but since you're going…"

"No problem, Mum. Thanks." Ginny lifted the tray and, after letting Molly open the mudroom and back doors for her, carefully carried her burden down to the pond shore. She was almost trampled in the rush for lemonade when she got there, the arrival of the cool sweet drink even managing to pull Harry, Ron and the twins out of the pond where they'd been swimming to escape the heat.

Ginny snagged a couple of glasses and filled them before the boys managed to inhale it all, then joined Hermione on a shaded rock that jutted out into the pond, raised above the water's surface by several feet. The Weasleys sometimes used it as a diving board but today it had become Hermione's haven, a place she could dangle her feet in the water and read but where she could still participate in conversations with her best friends if she wanted to without actually getting in the water herself.

"How come you're not swimming too?" Ginny asked the older girl, handing her the second glass of lemonade.

Hermione kicked her feet a little, sending tiny droplets of water shimmering through the air. "Are you kidding? Any good that water might do my temperature would be completely undone when I got out and had to deal with the frustration of untangling my hair."

"Couldn't you just braid it?"

"Even then it's not worth the effort," Hermione replied, shaking her head. "This rock is cool enough."

"Aren't you worried they'll splash you or something?"

"They wouldn't dare," Hermione said darkly. Then, more speculatively, "Although now that _you're_ here…"

"Just for that I'm _staying_ here," Ginny sniffed, settling down beside the older girl and making Hermione snicker a little before going back to her book.

Minutes later a heavy hand fell on Ginny's head, ruffling her hair with great affection. "Hey there, baby sister."

Ginny froze. "Oh no."

"'Oh no' what?" said a second, identical voice. "All he did was say hello."

"Oh no," she said again, louder, warding her brothers off with both hands waving. "No, no, no, no. No."

A larger hand snagged one of hers, yanking her swiftly to her feet. "What are you saying 'no' for?" Fred asked, frowning. Ginny wasn't fooled. She could see through that falsely innocent look.

"No! Don't you dare! Hermione!" she screeched as George, grinning wildly, wrapped both arms around her waist and helped his brother drag Ginny up to the rock's nearest edge. "Hermione! You jinxed me! The least you could do—no!" she pushed at both men ineffectually, reaching desperately for Hermione, "—the least you could do is help!"

But Hermione was edging carefully out of the way with only an apologetic look at her captured friend.

"Traitor!" Ginny hollered, just as the twins leapt off the ledge and plunged into the deepest part of the pond with her in tow. Hands pushed her down deeper, dunking her far enough that she ended up sitting on the bottom of the pond for a moment, giving the twins time to swim out of range. By the time she surfaced, coughing and shrieking threats at their swiftly retreating backs, Ron and Harry were crouching over the ledge next to Hermione (who looked slightly worried when Ginny turned glaring eyes her way). Harry leaned out over the edge of the rock, laughing even as he offered her a hand out.

"Think this is funny do you?" she growled at him, swimming closer until she could touch the bottom and struggling to keep her feet on the uneven surface of the pond floor as she reached for him.

"Well, you did sort of bring it on yourself," he sniggered. "Even I could have told you sitting on that rock was a bad idea with the twins around."

"Well, that wasn't the right thing to say," Ron muttered in an aside to Hermione.

Ginny agreed wholeheartedly with her brother. No matter what she'd done, she never deserved to be embarrassed like this (especially in front of Harry, a tiny voice sulked in the back of her mind). So she ignored the flutters in her stomach when her palm connected with his and his strong fingers curled firmly around her hand. She refused to think about the sheer strength it would take for him to pull her out of there, nor the way she'd get a front row view of it (and, consequently, she didn't think about why she'd _want_ a front row view). Instead, she took advantage of the moment it took him to shift into a better position to help her out of the pond, braced herself, and pulled backwards. Hard.

Harry hit the surface of the pond face first with a tremendous splash. Miraculously, Ginny managed to keep her footing and had pulled herself out of the water before Harry even resurfaced. She promptly snatched the book from Hermione's hand, tossing it to one side so it wouldn't get wet, and shoved the screaming brunette into the water after her best friend as punishment for abandoning her to her brothers' merciless care. She was unable to hide her grin when she heard Harry and then Hermione come up spluttering curses behind her.

Ron looked at her with round eyes. "Blimey, Gin," he said, awed, "what'd you throw Hermione in for?"

"She left me to Fred and George; she deserves it!" Ginny told him vehemently (and loudly, for Hermione's benefit). Hermione only spluttered some more, losing her balance and falling beneath the surface of the water again despite Harry's help.

Ginny laughed (a little maniacally) and clapped her hands together. "Let that be a lesson to you all!" she cried, throwing her arms wide to encompass the entire gathering (and focusing sharply on where the twins were treading water at the center of the pond).

Then Ginny looked down at herself, miffed. She was still fully clothed and the weight of the water was so heavy she felt as though she could barely move. Irritated, she yanked her jumper off over her head, leaving her in the t-shirt she'd worn underneath it, and started for the house.

"Good job, Gin," said a voice when she'd taken only handful of steps.

Ginny paused to grin at Charlie, sprawled under a tree next to Bill a few feet from the shoreline. Her grin faded at the mischievous smirk he was giving her. "What?" she asked, wary.

Charlie's smirk widened. "It's a great comfort to an older brother to know that a little attraction doesn't get in the way of his baby sister's wreaking vengeance." He grinned slyly.

Ginny's eyes narrowed. Hefting her discarded jumper in both hands, she crossed the space between them in three short steps and held the sopping fabric high above Charlie's head. His eyes widened in sudden comprehension, but there was no time for more than half a protest before she swiftly wrung the garment out above his head, thoroughly drenching his hair and most of his t-shirt to boot.

"Hey!" Charlie spluttered.

She promptly dropped the jumper on his head, muffling any further protests, and stalked toward the house to the uproarious sound of Bill's laughter.

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"So, when are you all leaving?" It was evening, and the Weasley siblings (minus Ron, who was off with Harry and Hermione somewhere) were gathered around a card table in the Burrow's living room, playing a vicious game of poker for dares, favors and chores. Ginny was mostly winning.

"Anxious to be rid of us?" Bill dropped a couple of slips of paper in the pot with a murmured "raise" and gave her a searching look.

"No." And it was true. Now that they would all be leaving, she was sad; reluctant to see them go.

"You don't have to worry about _us_, Ginny-bean," declared George, motioning to Fred and himself as he lay his cards down on the table, folding.

Sadness dissipated. That just didn't sound good.

Fred frowned over his cards (_deceptive as always_, a distant part of Ginny's mind observed. _He probably has a really good hand_), hesitantly dropped a few slips in the pot ("call"), and mildly agreed, "Yeah, we're staying right here."

Ginny felt dread curl inside her. The cards in her hand bent a little from the force of her grip. "You-you are?"

"Oh, yes."

"Here…as in here at the Burrow?" Ginny had the sneaking suspicion she was not imagining that shrill tone to her voice.

"That's right," answered Fred. "We've got…some unfinished business to attend to."

"Is that so?" murmured Charlie, looking at them sharply over the edge of his splayed cards.

"Yes!" cried George, obstinate.

Charlie's glare sharpened.

"In our own house!" Fred protested, glaring right back.

Bill sputtered a laugh.

For her part, Ginny was feeling very stressed. The twins were staying. For the rest of the summer. In the Burrow. Where she would be staying.

This did not bode well. She thought she might be hyperventilating.

Still, she caught the confusing conversation flying between her brothers and was irritated that she couldn't understand it. "What's in our house?" she asked, frowning.

Bill laughed out-right at that, and Charlie looked very amused, but the twins just looked shifty. "Never you mind, Gin-love," George told her. That sort of dismissal was never a good thing. Curious now, she was about to pursue the topic anyway when Fred leapt in.

"What about you, Charlie?" he asked. "Aren't you sticking around for awhile too?"

Charlie gave him a knowing look with a bit of a warning thrown in, but, with a quick glance at his cards, folded and answered anyway. "I'll be in and out a lot for the rest of the summer. The season's slow at the reserve, so I'll be on Order business a lot, and I'll be home more often than not." The Burrow had become unofficial headquarters since Sirius's death. There were no plans at the moment as to how long that might last, as it was really too small for meetings, but no one wanted to make Harry face Grimauld Place when Sirius wouldn't be there. This meant the Weasleys were dedicated to staying home, and where the Weasleys were, the Order seemed to follow.

"You'll be staying here then?" Ginny asked excitedly. The prospect of her second favorite brother's continued presence was something of a balm to her poor mind after the idea of the twins' extended visit.

"When I'm in the country, yeah."

Ginny fretted for a moment over how much that might be. Between work and the Order, how much could she depend on Charlie to protect her from Fred and George's evil, conniving intentions? And even if he _was_ in the house, would he really be much of a protection? When the twins were determined, there wasn't a whole lot anyone could do to stand against them… And besides, Charlie had caused a bit of trouble himself whenever he was around lately, not to mention all the teasing he'd done. She had been looking forward to the house emptying for a reason, she remembered suddenly. She loved her brothers, and if it were just Charlie…but the twins!

"Bill?" her voice was hesitant, and she privately wondered which answer she was hoping for.

"Well." Bill shifted. "Actually, I'm going to be staying in London for awhile."

"London? That's so close!" Ginny exclaimed. Then she paused. "Why?"

"Not sure," Fred mused before their eldest brother could answer for himself.

"I'm guessing it's got blond hair," George continued in a similar tone.

"Big blue eyes…"

"A French accent…"

Bill glared at the twins. They sniggered behind their hands but didn't say anything more. Then Bill surprised them all. "It _is_ partly because of Fleur," he admitted. "She's living in London too and I thought it'd be nice if we lived in the same country for awhile. But I have some business to do for the Order too, as well as…other obligations." The meaningful look he sent Ginny's way was enough to let her know he meant her training. They were still hiding that particular development from the twins, who would pitch a sizeable fit at the thought of Ginny doing anything remotely dangerous, which would also serve to alert their mother to their activities, whom they were also keeping in the dark.

Well, Ginny thought, London was far better than the Burrow. Close enough to see often, without crowding the house up further. Although with the Order business…She mentally groaned. The house was going to be ridiculously, unmercifully full all summer. There was no break or end in sight!

Then she experienced a sudden inspiration.

"Are you getting a flat?" she asked her eldest brother.

"Yeah." He gave her a look of mild curiosity

"Can I go shopping with you?"

"Shopping?"

"To find a flat," she clarified.

Bill tipped his head to one side, sending the fang earring swinging. "You'd want to?"

"Sure. I'm going to visit, aren't I?"

"Well, I _had_ planned on having you over a bit this summer, if I found one quickly enough," Bill agreed.

"So?"

"If you want, you can come with me."

"Yes!" Ginny grinned. "I don't want you buying some ugly, rickety old place I can't stand the sight of just because it's cheap or something." And it would get her out of the house. And give her a place to go when she ran away from the twins.

If she could get Bill to agree to let her use his flat as a refuge, that is. She wasn't sure about that. She wasn't as close to Bill as she was Charlie (whom she knew would never object), and besides, she wasn't sure how this "visit the grown brother" thing worked. The twins hadn't lived away from home long enough yet for her to have a chance to want to visit them—they'd been back home almost as long as she'd been out of Hogwarts this summer. Which was odd (didn't they have a shop to run?). And her other two brothers had lived out of the country as long as they had lived outside of the house (not to mention she'd been too young to go visiting on her own anyway).

But if she could get Bill to agree, and she thought she had a good chance of it, his flat could be a wonderful, twin-free haven.

She was so excited making plans in her head for various ways to get Bill to help her escape from the horror her house was about to become that she hardly noticed it when Fred, gloating terribly, won the hand and gathered the piled slips of paper from the center of the table with a greedy, sly laugh.

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"Remember Girls' Day, when we were shopping for Harry's present and you told me you were leaving?" Ginny demanded sometime the next morning. "Remember when I protested because the house is full of testosterone, and I can't handle it by myself for two whole weeks? Remember how you said 'the house will clear up after Harry's birthday?'"

Hermione, looking puzzled, nodded slowly.

Ginny waved a hand to indicate the commotion going on in the entryway as her brothers moved various odds and ends up the stairs to make their extended stay more comfortable. In Bill's case (because he was currently between homes) this meant that _all_ of his belongings were currently floating up the stairs in various stages of un-shrinking, occasionally banging into dubiously marked boxes clearly belonging to Fred and George (because they were shaking, making noises, or trying to explode whenever something jarred them too badly) and a few trunks and crates Charlie was floating in so he could get some of the paperwork that had been piling up at the reserve finished while he was home on Order business.

Ginny allowed Hermione a long moment to take in this chaos (made worse by the accompanying shouts of the boxes' various owners) before she turned to face her friend. "_This_ is not clearing up, Hermione. This is the _opposite_ of clearing up. This is torturously _un_-cleared up!"

Silence. Then, "Maybe your mum will let you invite Luna over to help balance things out."

"She better," said Ginny ominously, "because if I lose my mind this summer, it will be your fault. I will blame you for leaving me with this. And I _will_ have my revenge."

Hermione shuddered at the dark promise in Ginny's voice and made a mental note to talk to Mrs. Weasley about Luna's visit just as soon as the woman was done cleaning up the kitchen.

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It's been a really good week for me everyone! I finished this chapter in record time, got a whole bunch of things organized that I've been meaning to get to but have been putting off, AND got into my first choice grad school. Reviews would be like the super-fudgey frosting on top! (Hint! Hint!) ^_~


	10. Dragons, Dangers and Dormice Part 1

Antithesis

Disclaimer: I don't own anything even remotely related to Harry Potter, except a little bit of merchandise. The characters, world, ideas, etc. belong to that wonderful J.K. Rowling and the WB movie people.

Notes: Well, it's been a long time (again). Oops! However, in my defense, grad school keeps an author busy! ^_^ Aaaaand, I may have had writer's block (compounded by the busyness of grad school). This chapter was originally slated to be rather long and I don't really have the time or creativity to put it out in its originally intended format. So, in the hopes that I will be a little more motivated to post a little more often, I'm going to do this one in bits, which is why it's really short. In actuality, this is the intro to chapter ten. However, I'm fairly fond of it, for all its little-bittyness. I hope you enjoy it.

**Chapter Ten: Dragons, Dangers and Dormice (Part 1)**

The morning after her brothers moved back into the Burrow dawned bright and clear for Ginny.

She knew because she was up early enough to watch it do so.

Normally this early rising would be something she protested. She got up early enough as it was, thanks to Bill, and she generally did so with ill grace, grumbling curses at her (usually absent) eldest brother from the moment she shut the bedroom door between her grumpy self and the still sleeping Hermione until the moment she finished her morning workout and stepped under the warm spray of the shower.

But this morning was different. This morning was _special_. This morning she woke up at an unheard of 5:03 AM and _liked_ it.

This morning Charlie was taking her to the dragon reserve. Ginny was so excited she hadn't even complained when Charlie had informed her they'd have to leave the house at 5:30 in order to catch the first morning portkey to Romania at 6:15. She was so excited that she, a notorious night owl, had gone to bed _early_. She was so excited that she literally _leapt_ from the bed as soon as her alarm woke her.

Unfortunately, enthusiasm wasn't enough to combat her usual morning grogginess, nor the clumsy bumbling that went with it. Also, it was still very dark. That, in addition to her growing excitement, caused her to overestimate her early morning coordination. Regardless of what she might think, she really wasn't up to leaping yet; the attempt did not go well.

She tripped over her sheets jumping out of bed.

And hit her elbow on the windowsill.

And stumbled into the corner of her dresser.

And fell to the floor with a rather heavy thud.

There may also have been some cursing thrown in.

Hermione was _not_ happy to be awake at 5:04 in the morning.

She demanded silence. Or coffee. Or both. After several minutes of Ginny stumbling around and making more noise (in the form of thuds and curses) as she struggled to get her things together in the dark, Hermione gave up on the first request and threw the light switch with an impressive snarl and (revealed by the almost blinding light suddenly illuminating the room) a rather intimidating scowl to match.

"_Why_ did you not do this before you went to bed last night?"

Ginny blinked. Huh. Why hadn't _she_ thought of that? "Ummm…"

Hermione heaved a put-upon sigh. "I am going downstairs to make some coffee. Lots of coffee. I can_not_ function this early without caffeine. _You_," she glared irritably at her friend, "had better be out of the shower by the time I come back up. You only have twenty minutes left before you're supposed to leave. If you're lucky I'll remember to bring you some toast or something."

Ginny watched the older girl leave the room, straight-backed and stomping…silently. Ginny was impressed. Whenever she stomped like that, it always made tremendous noise. Then she glanced at the clock and leapt into motion. She was running out of time if she wanted to both shower and eat…and Ginny had a hard time getting through a morning without both of those things. Grabbing her clothes for the day, Ginny practically raced for the bathroom.

It was the fastest shower of her life. She was in and out in under five minutes (an impressive feat when you had as much hair to wash and condition as she did) and was fully dressed and back in her bedroom by the time Hermione returned from the kitchen. The older girl was carting a tray along with her, which she promptly sat in Ginny's lap.

"Gimme that," she muttered, snatching away the brush Ginny was currently trying to work through the heavy mass of hair at her back. She sat down on the bed behind the redhead and began wielding the brush with efficient strokes. "Eat," she commanded. "I ran into Charlie downstairs and he said they serve breakfast at the reserve's staff compound, but it'll be awhile. You'll want to have something substantial before then. Don't touch that," she added, reaching over Ginny's shoulder to nab the coffee mug she'd been about to drink out of. "That's mine." She took a greedy sip.

Ginny snickered. "I would have given it to you anyway," she told the girl. "You obviously need it more than I do."

"And whose fault is that?" Hermione groused, separating the hair at the top of Ginny's head into three still-wet strands and beginning to twist them together.

"I'm gonna go with Charlie on that one," Ginny responded innocently, inhaling her second piece of toast and gulping down some of her pumpkin juice.

"Hn," was Hermione's response, slender fingers deftly plaiting the thick red hair into a neat french braid. "Hair tie?" she demanded curtly when she had neared the end of Ginny's hair. Still chewing on her third (and final) piece of toast, the younger girl slid the black elastic off her wrist and handed it back over her shoulder. Hermione took it from her and wrapped it around the end of the braid. "Done," she proclaimed, dropping the secured hair to Ginny's back and scooting away to steal a danish off the corner of Ginny's tray.

"Thanks, 'Mione," Ginny mumbled around a bite of apple. She set the tray in her friends lap and began to stuff a few belongs into her backpack with the hand not occupied by the quickly disappearing fruit. Hermione huffed her annoyance but set the tray aside to help the redhead.

"You really _should_ have done this last night," she scolded in true Hermione fashion.

"_Normal_ people get _less_ organized and _more _distracted when they are anticipating something, Hermione," she informed the other girl. "I was too excited to plan ahead."

"Too excited to plan ahead," Hermione muttered, disbelief written across her face. She stuffed a jacket and several apples into the top of Ginny's bag and yanked the zippers closed. "As if that's an excuse."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Ginny placidly complied when Hermione shoved a sweatshirt into the redhead's arms and herded her towards the door. "This is normal for you, Gin. You always do things last minute. Except schoolwork," she added with thoughtful approval. "You usually do that well in advance."

Now it was Ginny's turn to huff. "I don't always do things last minute!" she protested. "I can plan ahead…if it's worth my while," she added with a wicked grin. "Take today for example. If it weren't for my careful planning, today would not be happening. I've been trying to come up with a way to get onto the reserve like this for _years_."

Hermione paused with her hand on the door and eyed her friend warily. "Sometimes you are so much like Fred and George it's frightening."

Ginny snickered and let the scowling Hermione shoo her out into the hall. "Go, go before you're late," the girl was saying.

Ginny adjusted the bag on her back, freeing a hand to snag the danish her friend was holding out to her. "Thanks," she said, passing through the doorway. "I mean it." Then she paused, looked back over her shoulder. "You know, I've been thinking. Our trip to Diagon Alley was a lot of fun. We should have another Girls' Day. Soon." She tossed the brunette another wicked, plotting grin and skipped off down the stairs, leaving the horrified prefect standing frozen in the doorway to their shared bedroom.

"Way too much like the twins," she heard the girl mutter, followed by a muffled, "I'm going back to bed," as the door shut firmly behind her.

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I know, I know. I'm really sorry it's so short. I'll try really hard to post again soon, but…just a warning, it may be Christmas/New Year's before the next part comes out, because I'm heading into finals season already, and I will have even less time and even more writer's block. However, if that turns out to be the case, I will continue to be thinking, outlining, and piece-writing ideas as best I can, so that as soon as vacation hits, I can polish up the next few pieces and get them up. I really will try to put the next part up before then, but I can't make any promises.


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